


You'll Find Me by the Light of the Moon

by dzzyondreams



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 05:51:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12834660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dzzyondreams/pseuds/dzzyondreams
Summary: Pete is a werewolf, and Patrick is his mate.  It wouldn't be a problem...except Patrick doesn't know.  And he doesn't feel that way about Pete, anyway.





	You'll Find Me by the Light of the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Ronan - I wish I could throw you a party to celebrate, but geography dictated that I do this instead. <3  
> Many thanks to girlpearl for the beta; she's always right about everything (even when it means I have to rewrite an entire fic). Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Pete always wakes up in Patrick’s bed the day after a full moon, after the nights when he couldn’t stop himself from changing even if he wanted to.  He can’t really be blamed for running on instinct, whereas Patrick can be blamed for letting a goddamn wolf into his bed so he’s long past soul-searching about the consequences.  If anything, he talks to Patrick about things like common sense and safety; Patrick, who’s known Joe since he was 15 and was therefore well acquainted with the idea of werewolves before he even met Pete, always shrugs him off.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” he says, usually only half paying attention,  “You’d have done that a long time ago.”

It’s true.  Being a werewolf comes with a lot of extra rules, and Pete’s never been particularly good at doing as he’s told.  He’s mixed full moon transformations with intoxication more times than he can even count, even though that’s one of the biggest taboos in werewolf culture.  If he somehow made it through that without biting Patrick, he doubts there’s anything that could actually override his desire to keep Patrick safe.  Especially now that it’s more than just a product of him being a slightly overbearing friend.  He remembers thinking, back when they were young and reckless and still learning who they were, that he couldn’t possibly love Patrick more than he already did.

Turns out he was wrong.  These days, Pete has to exist alongside the knowledge that no one will ever mean as much to him as Patrick does, that if he ever has to live without Patrick, he quite literally might not survive it.  At least he's better, now, at being a positive presence in Patrick's life—and in his own.  Pete spent years unlearning his worst habits to get to this point and in that time, Patrick changed as well.  Gone are the violent fights, both of them throwing words and objects with the intent to wound.  These days they just care to be the best they can be, and the best they can be is undoubtedly when they’re together.

Pete sometimes thinks that Patrick must have noticed the change, but Patrick never lets on that he thinks it’s any more than years of therapy finally having their effect on Pete.  It’s a logical conclusion, and it’s not exactly wrong.  The therapy definitely has been a factor.  But even the years Pete’s spent learning how to parse his emotions and vocalize appropriate reactions don’t hold a feather to the way Patrick’s approval lights a fire in his chest.  When Pete had been younger, he’d both romanticized the idea that he would someday find his mate and get his happily ever after, and sworn that it wouldn’t matter; that he would love who he loved and his werewolf genetics couldn’t take that away from him.  When it finally happened, he didn’t need to feel conflicted: he had loved Patrick of his own volition for years.  And there was no way he was running from the flood of safehappyhome that filled him every time Patrick came near.  So their relationship had settled into something warm and comfortable, and Pete could get enough of Patrick through rambling phone calls and songs sent back and forth at ungodly hours of the morning and accidental full-moon cuddles.  The latter are rare, but Pete’s not going to stop them if Patrick doesn’t.

Patrick’s a veteran when it comes to sharing beds with Pete, so he doesn’t even stir when Pete rouses in the early-morning sun.  Pete's careful to be quiet so he can enjoy this for as long as possible.  Being apart from Patrick these days makes him feel like he's only half an equation; it's only when he has this that he feels like the pieces fit together.  It's the one thing he can ask for that helps, the thing he's sure to get.  After his first few accidental post-change overnights with Patrick, they’d fallen into a rhythm and it became a normal part of touring together.  Even Pete’s nudity has become less of an issue (after many fights on the matter, Patrick had conceded that Pete couldn’t help it since he often fell asleep in his wolf form), and Pete’s careful with it because he can't bear the thought of having this taken away from him.

In fact, he’s willing to do pretty much anything for these stolen moments because they’re the one time in his life that nothing’s missing.  Whatever keeps Patrick happy is an easy sacrifice compared to the alternative.  The knowledge that this can’t be his every morning hurts, but also makes the joy of waking up like this burn even more sharply through Pete’s body.  He nuzzles into Patrick’s neck, nosing at the pulse point there, and Patrick begins to stir.

Pete immediately goes still, trying to pretend he’s still asleep.  It’s a trick Patrick never falls for.

“You’re such a weirdo,” Patrick says affectionately, rubbing a hand through Pete’s hair.  “Are you secretly thinking about eating me?  Because next time, you should do it quieter so I don’t wake up.”

Pete considers all the innuendos he could make and bypasses for a simple, “Are you saying I should turn you in your sleep?”

“No,” Patrick says.  “Don’t make me kick you out.”

“You’re the one who went to sleep with a wolf next to you last night.”  Pete cracks an eye open to see if Patrick’s ashamed at all.  

If he is, he doesn’t show it.  “Seemed kind of rude to make you sleep on the floor,” Patrick says.  “You’re making me reconsider, though.”

Pete gets the message and backs off, fighting his body’s urge to stay as close as possible to Patrick at all times.  “You smell good,” he says.

“I smell like I didn’t shower last night because of these fucking wolves who kept us out late.”  Despite his tone, Pete knows that Patrick’s not really irritated.  Their first two tours, riding long nights to play small venues, had taught them that under no circumstances was it a good idea to have two wolves in small vehicles.  Andy still has the busted snare to prove it, and Pete’s pretty sure Patrick never actually forgave him for ripping into his favorite hoodie.  These days, nighttime breaks in rural areas are mandatory when the full moon hits and everyone’s happier for it.  Despite this Patrick always seems to get caught up in his work, or spend too much time napping, before they make their stop.  Pete's told him a million times that he can stay behind and do his own thing, but Patrick claims he likes hanging out during the change.  At least this time he hadn’t missed any deadlines.

“You smell like you always do,” Pete says.  What he means is that the scent of Patrick is so closely associated with happiness in his brain that a missed shower doesn’t make a difference, but he can’t really say that part aloud.

“Hey, fuck you.”

Pete reaches out for Patrick even though he’s clearly not going to run away and leave Pete alone and heartbroken forever—which is about the one fear Pete still hasn’t gotten a handle on, and he overreacts accordingly every single time.  “I just meant that you always forget to shower,” Pete says, hoping Patrick will buy it.  “Which would be nice, you know, if you would consider those of us with enhanced senses…”

Patrick rolls his eyes.  “Maybe I’m trying to suggest to you that you should crash somewhere else,” he says.  “Notice Joe never hangs out with me.  I think he’s too polite to say anything, though.”

“Joe has a wife,” Pete says.  He tenses, mad at himself for leaving an opening for the conversation to turn in a direction he doesn’t want it to.   

“Yeah yeah, I bet she remembers to shower and everything,” Patrick says.  “Sorry.  Guess you’re stuck with smelly old me.”

Pete closes his eyes, counting to five before he lets himself respond.  “I guess I can live with that,” he returns.  “You know, if you make me breakfast.”

“Make your own breakfast.  I see you once again have opposable thumbs.”  Patrick sits up at last, leaving Pete chilled without his warmth.  

“I spent all night running in the woods,” Pete says, looking around for his shirt.  It’s not here, because this is Patrick’s bunk instead of his, and he never thinks to bring clothes for the morning after.  

“Hmm,” Patrick says.  “Still doesn’t sound like much of my problem.”  He gets out of bed and pulls a shirt out of his bag, tossing it to Pete.  

“Thanks,” Pete says, pulling it over his head.  A pair of underwear hits his chest before he’s quite finished, and he recognizes them as his own.

“You remember underwear for me, but not a shower for yourself?” he asks.

Patrick shrugs.  “Guess not having to see you walk around the bus naked is a greater motivator than slightly greasy hair.”

“Ouch,” Pete says.  “Frankly,—“

Before he can continue, Patrick buts in.  “Yes, yes, I know, you’re very hot,” he says.  “But maybe not everyone needs to see that before breakfast, hmm?”  He walks out of the room before Pete can respond.  

Pete’s left there, underwear sitting on his lap, wondering if the hope that sparks in his stomach is going to end up screwing him over.

Because Pete has spent a good deal of time thinking about the Patrick thing, he doesn’t throw caution to the wind and try to proposition him over breakfast.  In fact, he keeps to himself the rest of the day (not a problem, because Patrick disappears to get more rest before their show tonight) and reminds himself of every single reason this would never work between them.  Somehow, it doesn't quite help him forget Patrick's words. 

Finally they arrive at the venue and roll into sound check; the routine is a welcome distraction that carries Pete through the afternoon and early evening without giving him the chance to even think about doing something monumentally stupid.  The rush of heat he feels when they high-five right before their show is a surge of adrenaline and he doesn’t need it to be anything more than that.

Their show is incredible.  Pete loves performing the night after the full moon because some of the magic always seems to bleed over: even as humans, he and Joe still feel enough of the pack mindset that they’re in sync the whole night, whirling past each other on the stage, communicating with a tilt of the head, a quiet growl.  Pete knows he’s lucky he has anyone like him around, with a career like his, but not lucky enough that it keeps him from wishing Patrick and Andy could feel this too.  They’re more his pack than the actual wolves he runs with back in Chicago because he’s never had a home like this anywhere else, but there’s still an acute difference between them and Joe.  Then again—if Patrick were capable of being so attuned to Pete as Pete is to him, Pete’s secret would be out in an instant.  As it is, Patrick doesn’t notice when Pete lingers onstage, close enough to smell but not close enough to touch, and lets himself get carried away in how right everything feels.

“Dude,” says Joe, grabbing Pete’s arm as they go offstage between their set and their encore, “chill a bit, okay?”

Pete yanks his arm back and glances up to see that no one else caught that, but Joe’s smarter than to let them be overheard.  

“I know,” Joe says.  “I know, dude.  It fucking sucks.  But you gotta put a lid on it, at least a little bit.”

There had never been any lying to Joe about the fact that Patrick was his mate; Pete’s pretty sure Joe knew the exact second he did, even though they weren’t even in the same state at the time.  The next time they’d had a band meeting, he’d pulled Pete aside, panic in his eyes.  Pete didn’t even bother playing dumb.

“I’m not going to tell him,” he’d said, before Joe even opened his mouth.  

Joe’s panic had faded a bit, and Pete knew he understood the subtext.  They’d only just gotten this back.  There was no way he could risk it, for all of them.

“I’m sorry,” Joe had said, and Pete had just shrugged because surely he could live with it.  He knew that emotions always ran hottest at the beginning and he’d assumed that once they calmed down it would be nothing different from existing with the terrible, long-lasting crush he’d had on Patrick for the first decade of their friendship.  The fact that it wasn’t quite the same never failed to escape Pete, as much as he tried to deny it.  He’d made a promise that day and it wasn’t one he could break—there was more at stake than just his feelings.

Joe pulls Pete into a hug and Pete lets him, even though it does nothing to ease the need gnawing through his chest.

“Hey,” Patrick says from behind them.  “You guys okay?”

What feels like a million fans are just beyond the curtain, shouting for them to come back, but Pete can’t even hear them.  He lets go of Joe and turns to bare his teeth to Patrick, earning a light chuckle for his trouble.  He doesn’t realize Joe’s still holding onto his arm until the pressure stops him from leaning forward to kiss Patrick like his body is screaming for him to do.  

“Good,” Pete says finally, once his mouth has figured out what is and is not acceptable.  “Good fucking energy tonight.”

Patrick nods and adjusts his hat and Pete’s overwhelmed by the desire to be the person who gets to do that, before Patrick even knows what's bothering him.  To be the one who makes Patrick happy like he deserves.  Joe must sense it in him, because he doesn’t let go of Pete until Patrick is five feet away, saying something to Andy.

They get their encore signal before Pete can thank him properly, but when they bound back onstage there’s nothing but the music pounding through his bones and setting him alight.  He finds his way over to Joe and leans against them as they play, taking comfort in his steady presence.  Joe knows what it means as well as Pete does, and doesn’t even try to back away.

__

—

__

They’re three quarters of the way through their tour, at the part where everyone starts to snap at each other for petty things just because it’s hard to live in close quarters for so long, and to make things worse, Marie’s gone home for the remainder.  Joe is fairly despondent at the fact and Pete can’t even make fun of him; every tour they’ve done since he mated to Patrick has taught him exactly how bad withdrawal can feel.  He’s heard that the more time you spend with your mate, and the more intimate you are, the worse it gets.  Given that Pete barely makes it through his shit, he’s amazed Joe is even out of bed.

They’re all on Joe and Patrick’s bus for a movie marathon and Pete’s out in the kitchen, ostensibly so he can get them snacks but really because Patrick is talking sympathetically to Joe about how hard it must be to be separated one's mate.  Pete can’t blame him: it’s a tried and true method of helping Joe feel less alone.  But that doesn’t mean he wants to be around while it happens.  He pulls a bag of popcorn out of the cabinet and puts it in the microwave, searching for a bowl or two to use when it’s finished.

The noise he’s making still isn’t enough to drown out the conversation.  “Do you have any plans for when you get back?” Patrick asks.  Pete drops an entire stack of plastic, but still hears Joe list out the dates he’s going to take Marie on, and the vacation she’s been texting him about since she left.  It sounds wonderful; it sounds romantic.  It’s something Pete can’t even let himself dream of.  He counts himself lucky that he gets to spend large amounts of time with Patrick in the name of work, but at the end of the day it’s just that.  It’s enough to tide him over but Pete always walks away wanting, needing more.  

“That sounds great, man.  I bet she’ll love it.”

Joe laughs.  “Yeah.  I just gotta keep myself from getting too clingy.  Like, she misses me when I’m gone, but it’s not the same for her at all.”

Pete thinks they’ll leave it at that, but then Patrick asks, “Does it happen often like that?  Finding a human mate?”

“Often enough,” Joe says.  “When you look at the two populations…obviously there’s a lot more humans out there.  I think it’s about fifty-fifty.”

“It seems like that would make things a lot harder,” Patrick says.  “Not being with someone who…who gets it.”

“Yeah,” Joe says. “Especially at the beginning it can be rough because you’re ready to go all-in and for the other person it’s just a second date or whatever.  Just takes a little self-control.  Well, a lot, really.  But it’s doable, because the last thing you’d want is to scare that person off.”

“But does that happen?” Patrick says.  “If you mate with a human but they don’t…they don’t work out?”

Pete busies himself searching the cabinets for those fruit roll things that Joe loves so much.  He’s not sure they have any left, but maybe if he looks hard enough—

“Yeah,” Joe says.  “It’s…it’s fucking rough, man.  It’s not like you can re-mate.  Actual divorce is rare for us because of that, but there are couples who fight all the time and have to keep taking breaks.  Of course, they don’t stay apart for too long because it’s so painful.  But yeah, being with a human means there’s some danger of divorce.”

“Oh,” Patrick says, quieter.  “That sounds…awful.”

“It is,” Joe says.  “I’ve only seen it happen to a couple of us, but, man.  Kind of makes you not want to find your mate.”

“But that doesn’t happen, does it?” Patrick says.  “I thought you always…knew who your mate was.”

“Not exactly,” Joe says.  “Everyone has one.  But sometimes you just need to like…grow into it, I guess.  Sometimes it’s like me and Marie, where I just met her and I knew.  But then you have P—guys who don’t figure out who their mate is until they’ve known them for years already.”  

“Huh.” Patrick sounds intrigued, and Pete hopes to god he doesn’t ask any more questions.  “That must be weird.”

“The whole thing is weird,” Joe says.  “Not like, Twilight levels of weird, but weird.”

“Twilight went way beyond weird and into creepy,” Patrick points out.  “Obviously it’s not like that.”

The microwave dings, snapping Pete out of it; he pours the popcorn into the bowl he found and takes it and the other snacks out to everyone else.

“Food!” He announces, trying to pretend Joe and Patrick weren’t secretly discussing how he’s a freak even among werewolves.  “Where’s Andy?”

“Phone call,” Patrick says.  “He’ll be back in a few.  There enough popcorn for all of us?”

Pete’s already en route to hand the bowl to Joe.  “I didn’t know you wanted any,” he says.

“It’s fine,” Patrick says.  “You don’t have to.”  

Pete goes back out into the kitchen anyway.

He doesn’t dawdle so much this time, as Joe and Patrick are mock fighting over the popcorn, but when he gets out Andy has returned.  With him back the couch is full, but that doesn’t stop Pete from trying to squeeze himself in, between the arm rest and Patrick.

“I swear, even though you’re a human right now your brain is all dog,” Patrick says, shoving at him.  

“I mean, that’s pretty much how it works.”  Pete’s cozy next to Patrick, and they have food, so he’s not about to relinquish his seat for anything else.

“Well you’re not one,” Patrick says, “and you’re not small enough to sit on people’s laps.  If that’s how it works, how come Joe isn’t this obnoxious?”

“Because I have manners,” Joe cuts in.

“Manners?  You?  Last night I watched you shove an entire hot dog into your mouth because you wanted seconds but your hands were full.”

Before they can really get into it,  Andy holds up the remote. “Are we gonna watch something, or do I get to take over the TV for video games?”

Pete shuts up and hands the bowl of popcorn off to Patrick, moving into a position that’s more comfortable for both of them.  He half expects Patrick to kick him out; there’s still a perfectly good armchair, and two beanbags, but Patrick shifts so Pete can fit in beside him, and passes the popcorn back once they’re settled.  

Andy presses play on _Lord of the Rings_ and Pete settles in, allowing himself to bask in the feeling that all is right with the world.

__

—  

__

By the time Pete gets home he’s running on his last reserves of energy and far too much Starbucks—they all are.  It’s just how tours go.  As much as he loves getting to share their music with the kids who brought them this far, it’s a relief to be able to drop his bags on the floor and crash in his own bed.  He only plans to take a quick nap, but when he wakes up it’s nearly midnight and he’s starving.

Pete grabs his phone to see if there’s anyone who will bring him a pizza this late and sees two missed texts from Patrick.  _God it’s good to be home_ , says the first.  The second is a selfie.

Pete nearly drops his phone because since when does Patrick send selfies—but he’s not going to waste this opportunity.  He switches on the lamp by his bed and snaps a picture.

The soft light flatters and warms him, shirtless with hair mussed from his sleep.  He sends the picture before he can reason himself out of it and then stares at his screen, willing Patrick to reply.  There’s no return message, no telltale dots that show Patrick is typing.  Not that he would be.  Patrick’s probably asleep.  Or maybe he’s caught up in doing something, so zoned in that he’s forgotten about his phone.  The thought doesn’t stop Pete from compulsively checking his phone for the next five minutes, but he does at last get out of bed and wander to his kitchen.

It’s weird how little his house feels like home sometimes, when he comes back after a long trip and has to re-adjust to life alone, in spaces that aren’t mobile and temporary.  It’s a cold, quiet expanse that’s nothing like the months previous.  An absence of life, Pete thinks morosely.  He puts it out of his mind and rummages through his cupboards and pantry before he can really dwell on it.  He knows the next few days might be rough.  There’s no need to encourage the negative spiral he’s already dreading.

Though he manages to put Patrick out of his mind for a bit, Pete doesn’t get back to sleep that night, and stays in bed the next day.  He tells himself it’s because he has nothing else to do but he’s aware in the back of his mind that it’s not quite true.  He finds himself revisiting and cataloguing every minute he’d spent with Patrick over the past few months and scribbles his feelings onto pieces of paper that he later shreds.  They’re not for anyone’s eyes but his own.  Even that doesn’t manage to replicate the warmth that Patrick’s presence brings to his chest, just reminds him what could be but never will.

The hours stretch into days where Pete wears a rut between his bed, bathroom, and couch and orders far too much takeout.  Patrick does text him occasionally and they return to the sporadic conversation that’s their norm.  Every time Pete’s phone dings he’s filled with the urge to say, _i need you to never leave me again_.  He tries to keep his words light and their conversations brief so he doesn’t have to face the temptation.  It takes him a full week to realize he's not just being over-emotional and melodramatic; that he's actually feeling worse than he has before.

_can u talk_ he texts Joe the next time his phone dings, with some bad joke he’ll laugh at far too much later  A few seconds later, Joe’s call comes through.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Joe asks, crunching his way through something.

“Gross,” Pete says, rather than actually talk about it.  He knows they’re going to have to, in the way that they haven’t really since that first day.  

“You’re the one who wanted to talk at lunch time,” Joe says.

Pete looks at the clock.  “It’s two thirty-seven in the afternoon.”

“Fine,” Joe says.  “Snack, whatever.  What are you up to?”

“Not much,” Pete says.  “Good to be home again, you know?”

“Tell me about it,” says Joe.  “Hey, you ever gone to that jazz night thing in the park?  Marie and I were gonna go but she’s having second thoughts.”

Pete has to take a moment before he can reply as his heart protests at the unfairness of the universe.  “No,” he says finally,  “Haven’t.”  

“Yeah, Marie doesn’t know anyone who has either.  I guess we’ll have to check it out on our own if we want to know,” Joe says.  “Or, hey, you could come with, you have plans?”

It strikes Pete that he’s hardly gone out at all since they got back.  It's not all that unusual; all his friends have partners, kids, lives in the way they didn’t when they were younger.  Pete’s one of the few left without, stuck in time.  “I think I’m just gonna stay in, actually,” he says.  The truth is that getting out of bed and getting dressed seems like a lot more effort that he can reasonably be expected to put out at this moment.

“Next time, then,” Joe says.  “What are you up to, anyway?  I swear you’ve texted me like ten times less than normal.  Not that I’m complaining or whatever.  You and Patrick aren’t working on the next album already are you?”

“No,” says Pete.  They’d bounced a few ideas around during tour, of course, but Joe already knows about those.  

“Are you sure?” Joe says.  “Because really, you have been weirdly quiet since we got back and I know it’s not just me missing your calls because Marie and I were…oh,” he says.  “Pete, man, you holding up okay?”

Pete means to say that he’s fine, but instead he finds himself choked up, tears threatening at the edges of his eyes.  “Fuck,” is all he manages.

“I’ll come over,” Joe says.  When Pete starts to protest he insists, “no, it’s fine, Marie’ll be glad to have some space for a few hours.”

Pete nods even though Joe can’t see it and lets Joe walk them through their goodbyes after promising to be there in a few.  Pete collapses onto the couch and lets himself zone out until Joe knocks on his door.

“Hey,” Pete says to the floor as he lets Joe in.  He knows he looks terrible, three days of facial hair sitting untrimmed on his face and his eyes rimmed in red.  Joe doesn’t make him say anything else, just pulls him into a hug.  Pete clings tight even though it makes less of a difference than he wants it to.

“I know, dude,” Joe says.  “I know.”

The worst thing is, Pete knows he does; he’d done a lot of sitting with Joe at the beginning, before Marie knew anything about werewolves or their mates.  The only difference is that with Joe it was just a phase they had to get him through.  With Pete, the situation is a bit more permanent.

“You look rough, man,” Joe says, taking in the takeout containers and ripped up papers on Pete’s table.  “Talk to me.”

Pete shakes his head.  He doesn’t know what to say because he’s not sure where it all begins.

“Pete,” Joe says.  “We can’t keep doing this, _I_ can’t keep doing this, if it’s going to fuck you up this much.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s normal,” Pete says.  “It always sucked, I just didn’t…know.  I don’t know.”  

Joe sighs and starts stacking empty takeout containers.  “Whatever you need,” he says.  “I will do.  Pete.  You know that.  So tell me what it is.”

“Why does he do it,” Pete asks, vision blurring over as Joe sweeps paper scraps into a small pile on Pete’s table.  “He just lets me and I don’t know why.”

“You’re Patrick’s best friend,” Joe reminds Pete.  “He likes to spend time with you, you’ve never been amazing at boundaries, and he doesn’t know.  He’s just trying to be a good friend, man.”

“He is,” Pete says.  The problem is that friendship isn’t what Pete needs from him.  

“Yeah,” Joe says.  “It would kinda be easier if you could hate him, right?”

Pete nods and sniffles.  Joe says, “Have you thought about telling him?”

Pete doesn’t justify that with an answer because Joe was the one who’d helped him make the decision to not bring it up, long ago.  Anyway, they both know Patrick wouldn’t be interested.

“It’ll get better,” Joe says, eventually.  “I know it fucking sucks now.  But you just spent three full months with the guy.  Your body just has to forget that again and it will go back to how it was before.”

Pete wants to laugh at the idea of ever forgetting a second of his life with Patrick, because each interaction sets off endless fireworks in his mind.  But he knows Joe is trying to comfort him, so he doesn’t argue.  “Right now sucks though,” he says.

“Yeah,” Joe says.  “You need to find something to distract yourself, though.  The more you fixate on him, the longer it takes for your brain to reset.”

Pete’s heard that information passed on during every single mating crisis he’s been party to, though he's not sure it’s ever been followed.  “Are you telling me to get a hobby?” he asks.  Of course he has things that he wants to do, but most of them are things he wants to do with the rest of the guys.  With Patrick.

“Yeah,” says Joe. “I bet you can think of something.”

Pete doesn’t bother concerning Joe with the information that he’s sick of doing things alone and that there’s really only one person that comes to mind when he thinks of inviting a friend along.  He knows well enough for the both of him that he’s not doing well.

“I guess so,” Pete says.  “Does marathoning Iron Chef count?”

Joe plops down on Pete’s couch as Pete grabs the remote.  “It’s a start,” he says.  “But if I stay here we’re eating real food tonight, or I’ll go all Marie on your ass.  And trust me, you do not want that.”

“Since when did you care about your health?” Pete asks.  

“It’s important,” Joe says.  “Shut the fuck up.  You didn’t used to watch documentaries, but—“

“Fine, fine,” says Pete, brushing off the comment before Joe realizes what he’s said and goes all apologetic on him.  “We’ll eat a good dinner.  Tell Marie not to worry.”  

Joe picks up his phone to send off a text and Pete does the same out of habit, before he remembers the reason for this whole event.  He silences his phone and flips it screen down on the table.  Joe doesn't say a word, and Pete doesn't mention the way his fingers itch to text Patrick back, just one more time.  

__

—

__

_Ready for tonight?_ Joe texts, the day the full moon’s due to hit, like Pete even needs to be asked.

_Cant wait_ , Pete writes back.  It’ll be his first transformation since returning from tour, and Pete’s itching to be out of this body, if only for a minute.  He knows he could change at any time, but it’s dangerous without any others there to keep him in check and it’s also harder, more painful without the help of the full moon.  Joe probably would have indulged him if he’d asked—but Pete’s been trying to pretend that he took Joe’s advice and is back to normal.  That’s a lie that beats on the inside of his chest but it’s honestly not for lack of trying.  Patrick’s presence is a ghost that’s particularly hard to shake.  

Pete intends to use the jittery energy he always gets at this point to get a few things done, but he can’t focus enough to actually finish anything he starts.  It’s a spectacular lack of productivity, even when considered against his week spent mostly in front of the television.  Pete’s skin is itching in anticipation and he nearly shatters an entire stack of plates when he tries to get himself lunch.  He checks his phone compulsively though he’s not waiting for anything in particular.  By the time the sun sets, he’s annoying himself with his antics.

“Gotta stay cool,” he says to himself as he pulls on a pair of ratty jeans and an old tee.  It’s been years since he’s actually destroyed any clothing in the change but it doesn’t matter how he looks—the only people who will see him are fellow commuters.  

_On my way_ , he texts Joe, even though they’ve been doing this together since they were teenagers.  

Pete drives as fast as he can out of the city, to the forest they always use as their stomping grounds when they’re in Chicago for a change.  The rutted dirt parking lot is already half full of cars; Pete pulls his to the side and waits for Joe to show up.  A blue station wagon pulls into another spot and a few moments later Pete sees a pair of wolves dart off into the woods together.  He tries to bite back his jealousy and only half succeeds.

Two other cars arrive before Joe finally pulls in and parks right next to Pete.  He doesn’t look as wild as Pete feels, though his hair seems bushier than normal—but that’s probably just a Joe thing, not a wolf thing.  They don’t need to speak as they shed their clothes, bodies reshaping into their other form.

Transformation always hurts the moment it’s finished, but the moment after that is the one Pete lives for—when the world floods his senses with everything he’s been missing.  He can smell the grasses underfoot, the oil and dust mingling together in the parking lot, and maybe a brief whiff of Patrick’s soap from the last time Pete gave him a ride.  For once, he doesn’t linger on it.  Joe throws his head back and howls and Pete does the same.  Moments later, they hear answering bays from the woods that set their internal compasses.  Pete and Joe race off, jumping over logs and barreling through undergrowth, to find the others.

Pete has never thought of anyone outside of his band as his pack, mostly because the near-constant travel means he misses this six months out of twelve, but there’s an easy camaraderie here that comes from running with this group for most of his life that Pete doesn’t get when he changes in strange places.  The forest melts away underfoot as they race through, making a sport of chasing squirrels, tripping each other up to keep anyone from winning.  It's not everything Pete needs, but it's the closest he'll get in this lifetime.  

Deep in the woods, there's no way for Pete to reach for Patrick, no matter how much he wants to.  He trusts the cover of the moon to keep his secret and makes himself run farther, faster, in hopes that he can tire himself out of this horrible fog that’s been dampening his every movement.

Pete doesn’t remember getting home, but he wakes up to the sun streaming in through his windows the next morning.  As tired as he’d been by the end of last night, he’s alert now.  

Out of habit he reaches for his phone and sees two new texts.  _Good night last night?_ reads the first and all the calm Pete had gained evaporates.  Ignoring his Patrick issue would be a lot easier if Patrick weren’t the perfect friend in every way.

_Had a good run_ , Pete writes.  _Hey lyric idea?_

_Already used it_ , says Patrick.  _And still no on the werewolf songs.  The last thing we need is for someone to figure it out and start with the creepy objectifying they do._

Pete knows and agrees with this, but he still sends back a volley of sad faces.  While he’s waiting for Patrick’s response he goes to his inbox to check the other message.  It’s from Joe.

_Sorry about your arm_ , it says.

Pete’s not sure what Joe means until he sits up and pulls his shirt over his head.  His shoulder throbs with the movement and once it’s uncovered he can see why: it’s scarred with two deep gashes that have only half healed over.  He knows what a bite looks like on human skin when he sees it, and he also knows that Joe wouldn’t have hurt him without reason.  

_What’d I do?_ He writes back.

_Tried to run back into Chicago._   Joe’s answer comes almost immediately.  

Pete frowns at the screen; he’s sure he would remember that—but honestly there’s not much of last night in his head save the relief he felt right after he changed.  _Fuck_ , he says.  _Sorry._

_I thought you were doing better?_ Joe writes.  Pete doesn’t know how to respond to that one so he just lets it go.  He swipes back to his inbox to see if Patrick has texted back, but Pete’s emoji chain is still the last message in the conversation.  

Pete’s shoulder gives another dull protest as he sets his phone aside, and though he closes his eyes, his brain doesn’t follow suit.  Worse, now that Joe’s alerted him to the state of his arm, it twinges and throbs with every movement.  Pete wishes he could change again and let his wolf side take charge on the healing—it wouldn’t take more than a few hours—but given how he got it in the first place, he doubts his control would be up for it.  He picks up his phone again and types _I need to talk to you about something_ into a new text.  He knows that if he sent it, Joe would support him, would help him figure out what to say and how to say it, and in general do whatever Pete needed to make things work.  Andy would take it in stride, and Pete's therapist would quietly approve of him taking steps to affect his situation rather than avoiding it.   And Patrick…

Pete backspaces the message and turns his phone off, dropping it back on his mattress.  What he has now is good.  What he has is enough.  It has to be, because if he can’t make it work he may have nothing at all.

__

—  

__

Pete takes phone calls and attends meetings and scribbles a few lyrics that no one will ever see, and somehow among the buzz of work he starts to feel normal again.  He hasn’t actually seen Patrick face to face since returning but he’s gotten fairly good at carrying on text conversations without having to talk himself down.  It’s progress; his therapist agrees when he tells her about it.  Pete doesn’t feel amazing—which is pretty much guaranteed to be the case forever thanks to his shitty luck—but he can function.  He can get out of bed each morning, and he can take care of himself reliably, and he’s even remembering what it feels like to have fun.  

Ever since he almost sent the text, Pete’s been mulling over his options in his head.  He doesn’t dare bring it up to Joe, and he’s not ready to go over it with his therapist either.  But he does rip a piece of paper out of his notebook and start a list of reasons it would be horrible to let Patrick know.  The first—and most obvious—is that they’d had a very serious discussion, right after Andy had come on, about how Pete’s band and his love interests were not to overlap.  Joe, Andy, and Patrick had all been united on that front and though Pete had argued vehemently, he knows it was a wise decision.  Joe seems to have come around on that because Pete can’t exactly help the situation he’s in now—but Pete’s still not sure he’s ready to balance a band relationship with a romantic relationship.  He’s not sure he’ll ever be ready.

There are a laundry list of other reasons, most of which involve Patrick not being interested, Pete’s less-than-stellar track record in his past relationships, and the fact that Patrick never asked to be involved in any of this.  But Pete doesn’t really need any more reason than the first one to convince him that he made the right decision.

He gets further feedback on the last point one afternoon when Patrick texts him, _Can you help me with something?_

_What’s up?_ Pete asks.

Patrick doesn’t write back immediately, so he goes to the kitchen and makes a smoothie.  When he comes back, there are two selfies of Patrick waiting for him.  _Which shirt do you like best?_ Patrick asks.

_Shit we don’t have a shoot do we_ , Pete texts back.  _Wait do you?_

The dots that indicate Patrick is typing appear, then disappear again.  Finally Pete gets his response.  _No.  But I have a friend who thought I would get along with a girl he knew back when he lived in Chicago.  We’re going out for drinks tonight._

Pete stares at the message, re-reading it five times to see if there’s any other possible interpretation.  He comes up empty.

_Should I just go shopping?_

_Shit,  I should probably go shopping_. Patrick sends.  The ding of Pete’s phone interrupts his endless analysis of Patrick’s text and he shakes his head to clear it.

_Wear the blue one_ , he replies.  _it looks good on you._ He also knows that it’s Patrick’s favorite shirt, and he’ll feel less self-conscious in it.  And someone else deserves to see that, don’t they, to have Patrick at his best?  He’s not Pete’s—as much as Pete wants him to be—and Pete should be happy that he’s putting himself out there again.  He knows it’s been awhile since Patrick has dated.  Just because Pete’s going to be single for the rest of his life doesn’t mean Patrick should suffer the same fate.

_Are you sure?_ Patrick says, _it’s not too old?_

_It's a good shirt_ , Pete replies.  _Have fun._

He downs the rest of his smoothie and decides maybe he’ll go out for a run.  It’s not too hot out and he could stand to do something.  

Pete doesn’t hear from Patrick the rest of the night, and though some small, masochistic part of his brain wants him to text Patrick for a blow-by-blow of the evening he doesn’t.  In fact, he doesn’t talk to Patrick much at all over the next few days.  It’s part that he has various band business to deal with that takes up his free time, but more that he relapses to his bad habits of spending too many hours in bed and in front of the TV.  Pete gets out of the shower one morning to see a missed call from Patrick, but he knows he can’t handle an actual conversation on only two hours of sleep so he doesn’t return it.  He adds a few more items to the list and posts it on his refrigerator, then takes a picture of it on his phone in case he experiences a moment of weakness while he’s out somewhere.  He lives by the list, his email, and his calendar.  The next thing he knows, he and Patrick are face to face in an airport.

Patrick greets him with a smile and a one-armed hug, clutching his coffee close with his other hand.  Pete laughs and tries not to lean into it too much.  Patrick maintains it’s creepy when Pete sniffs him in public.  

“Seriously?” Patrick says, shoving him away gently.  A joke.  “It’s only been a few weeks, Wentz, I promise I’m not a pod person.”

“The Patrick I know was definitely a pod person,” Pete says, pushing closer out of habit.  It takes him a few seconds to realize what he’s doing and he pulls himself back sharply.

“Where’d you get the coffee?” he asks, before Patrick can follow up with an are-you-okay.  Pete knows he deserves it—they’re rarely incommunicado for so long—but honestly this trip snuck up on him, and Pete’s not sure he’s prepared to deal with this proximity to Patrick now that there’s an extra level of complication added.  Patrick doesn’t call him on it, just gestures back they way he’d come and Pete gives him a thumbs up and then escapes.  He dawdles by the kiosk with the sugars and creamer while he waits for his drink, making a tower out of the plastic creamer packets.  When they call his name Pete swipes a few extras for the plane, then loads his drink down with some extra milk just in case the baristas didn’t add enough.  Even that doesn’t take long enough; they still have at least a half an hour before they’re scheduled to board and Pete is as stable as a fault line right now.  

He pulls his headphones out and plugs them into his phone, turning on his loudest, thrashiest music, and wanders through the concourse.  People don’t seem to notice him at all as they rush by trailing suitcases and coats and unhappy children.  For once he revels in the invisibility.  

Pete starts when someone places a hand on his shoulder, but it’s just Patrick behind him.  Pete slides his headphones off one ear.

“They’re boarding soon,” Patrick says.  “Do you need anything?  I’m gonna grab some snacks.”

“I’m fine,” Pete says, even though he knows he’ll get hungry and complain about the airplane food once they’re in the air.  “I’ve just gotta…” he jerks his hand in the direction of the bathrooms and Patrick lets him go.

“Right, sure,” Patrick says.  “You positive you don’t want anything?”

Pete just shrugs and Patrick accepts it as an answer, heading off for the shop across the way.  Pete slips his headphones back on but doesn’t move, the foot traffic splitting around him like a rock in a stream.

Pete’s plan for the airport had been something like this: show up at the last possible second, manipulate the boarding order so he could snag a safe seat next to Joe or Andy, and then make good use of his headphones to help him zone out the whole trip.

How it happens is this: when he finally wanders back to the gate area, the flight is already boarding.  Pete shuffles through the line and onto the plane to find Joe and Andy already sitting next to each other, and an empty seat next to Patrick.  He shoves his bag in the overhead bin and sits down, wondering if he can fake a sore throat to get one of the guys to switch with him.  

“Hey,” Patrick says, before he can even try, “I’ve been working on some stuff…wanna listen?”

“Uh, sure,” says Pete, pulling his headphone cable out of his phone and handing it over to Patrick.  

“I know we’re not quite ready to move on to the next album yet,” Patrick says, “but it’s just—well, just tell me what you think?”

At some point, Pete thinks the flight attendants give their safety spiel, but he doesn’t remember because he’s too busy getting his mind blown by Patrick’s genius.  And—dammit.  The last thing he needs is to let this happen again.  Patrick is his friend, and bandmate, and an amazing musician, and Pete needs to stop thinking of him as anything more than that.  Pete had talked through this with his therapist, and while he got the sense that she disapproved of him hiding the truth, she’d been amenable to his list of rules that would keep his time with Patrick from turning into a nightmare when he got home.  But fuck, is it hot to hear Patrick’s voice wrapped around his words, making them something magical.  It's almost enough to make him forget.

“I love it,” Pete breathes, reaching over Patrick to replay the song, and letting the sound explode inside his headphones again.  Patrick’s wearing the look he doesn’t get often that means he’s happy and proud and excited for their future, and Pete agrees.  The album—when they write it—is going to be incredible.  And it’s going to be so, so worth every bit of restraint it’s taken to not make this thing with Patrick a big deal.

He takes a deep breath and leans back, sliding his headphones down to rest against his neck.  “Yeah,” he says.  “That’s.  Yeah.”

“I thought so,” Patrick says, with a grin.  “I mean—obviously it’s not finished.  But it could be something?”

“It already is,” Pete says.

He fully intends to zone out to some of the in-flight entertainment, or maybe attempt the Sudoku in the back of the complimentary magazine, but Patrick has questions, and wants opinions, so Pete stops fidgeting and does his best to pay attention.  It doesn’t hurt that paying attention to Patrick is literally ingrained in him now: he’s fighting a losing battle even when Patrick isn’t actively asking for his input.  Pete can’t bring himself to complain when, halfway through their conversation, Patrick pulls out the chips he got for himself and passes a packet of Red Vines over to Pete.  Pete takes them and nods his thanks, resigning himself to an extra week of misery when they return home.  As much as he hates how his dumb biology has fucked this up for him too, it’s near impossible to say no to Patrick when he’s the one offering Pete everything he wants.  

“Hey,” Patrick says, once Pete’s fully let his guard down, “I meant to ask earlier, are you doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Pete says.  “Great.  How about you, how was that girl?”

The look Patrick gives him is sad and disappointed.  “That was two weeks ago, Pete.”

“What?” says Pete.  “Wow.  Sorry.  Got kinda busy, I guess.”

Patrick’s mouth tightens but he doesn’t push, though he must know that’s not the case.  Lying has never been Pete’s strong suit.  “We didn’t really hit it off,” he says, shrugging a shoulder; despite his nonchalance, Pete can see in the shape of his mouth that he thinks it’s because he’s never going to actually end up with anyone.  Which is bullshit, and almost enough to make Pete confess his (literally) undying love, but, the list.  

“Sorry, man, that sucks,” he says.  He can feel Patrick’s eyes on him as he fiddles with the napkin that’s somehow found its way into his fingers.  If he acts normal, maybe Patrick will just let it go.

A few seconds later, the intercom crackles to life with an announcement that they’re making their final approach, and please pack up all your items, and Pete’s saved for the time being.

They have a quick layover in LAX and then board their flight for Tokyo.  Pete already feels claustrophobic—flying has never been his favorite thing, though it’s a necessity in this business—but at least this time, no one interrupts him as he fumbles on his headphones and tries to drown out his brain with one of the movies on board.  

“Why don’t you just try to get some rest?” Patrick asks finally, sick of watching Pete flip between their TV offerings in search of something actually funny.  It’s not a half-bad idea, given how terrible he’s been feeling lately.  Pete leans back in his seat and closes his eyes.

He wakes up in darkness, fumbling for his phone before he realizes that he’s timezones away from where he started.  Sometime during the flight he shifted so he was leaning against Patrick, which he maybe should have thought about before he decided to take a nap.  A few hours of accidental cuddling is enough to make his withdrawal even worse, and he’d told himself that he would be more careful this trip.  The only problem is that if Pete disentangles himself now, he’ll wake Patrick.  

His neck is going to kill him tomorrow, and his heart the week after that, but Pete doesn’t want to risk the kind of soul-baring honesty that happens when it’s dark out—so he unlocks his phone and jots down a few phrases to email to Patrick once they’ve landed.  That done, he opens Candy Crush and lets himself drift in a multicolored haze.

Patrick finally wakes up when they’re a couple of hours out.  Pete’s dozing again, his phone battery only a red sliver when he checks the time again. 

“Morning,” Patrick says through a yawn, though Pete’s not rightly sure what time it actually is.

“Hey,” he says, blinking his eyes open to clear them.  “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, “surprisingly good, for a plane.  You?”

“I think that’s the longest I’ve slept in awhile,” Pete admits.  Patrick’s eyebrows are pinched together when Pete looks over at him, but he doesn’t say anything about it.  

“I’m starving,” Patrick says.  “Did we miss all the food?”

Pete reaches up for the call button, but Patrick puts a hand on his arm.  “Don’t worry about it,” he says.  “I think I still have some snacks.”

They breakfast on a package of dried fruit and another of trail mix.  Pete roots through it for the m&ms when he thinks Patrick isn’t looking.

“Why do you still eat like a teenager?” Patrick asks, taking the bag back.  “Stop taking all the good bits.”

“I saved you the raisins,” Pete says, through a mouth full of chocolate.

“That’s the last time I ever buy you anything,” Patrick shoots back.  

It turns out there’s another round of service before they land, so Pete buys them both breakfast to make up for it.  

“Okay,” Patrick says.  “I take it back.  You can stay.”  

“If you tried to kick me out right now we’d have trouble anyway,” Pete says, gesturing around.  He’s actually pretty sure that Joe, asleep with his noise-cancelling headphones clasped securely over his ears, wouldn’t stir if Pete physically dragged him over to a different seat, but it’s not like he’s actually considering that as a valid escape route.

“Well, good thing I’m easy.” Patrick’s smile is small and private and Pete feels something twist in his chest.  

“I’ll be right back,” he says, bolting out of his seat even though there’s nowhere else to go.  He’s committed now though—so he makes a beeline for the bathroom and locks himself in it and does his best not to have a minor breakdown above the Pacific Ocean.

When he returns to his seat, Patrick’s leaning across it to talk to a now-awake Joe, but he looks at Pete with a concerned glint in his eye.  Pete shakes his head slightly and Patrick doesn’t bring it up, but Pete knows he’ll be watching to make sure Pete’s okay.  Which is really just what Pete needs at the moment.

He keeps his eyes closed for the remainder of the flight, pretending to rest; though he doesn’t fall asleep before they land, it keeps him safe from questions.  Then they touch down and they’re in Tokyo and for a moment Pete even forgets that he’s five seconds of lost inhibitions away from ruining the best relationship he’s ever had.  Though they’re all travel-worn and jet lagged, the potential excitement of exploring a new place sounds better to Pete than sitting in his hotel room, overanalyzing every second of the past twenty two hours.  He takes a quick shower with plans to get lunch after, alone (he thinks that’s the current meal, anyway).  It’s not his fault that Joe catches him on his way down to the lobby, or that they have to run back upstairs because Joe doesn’t have his wallet; at that point, Andy and Patrick join them and it’s just like any other day, except it’s not at all what Pete had planned for his afternoon to be.  

“You good?” Patrick asks as they wait in line for lunch, quiet enough that Joe and Andy don’t notice over their debate on whether Andy can truly experience Japan if he doesn’t try the squid (Andy’s pretty sure he can).  

Pete gives Patrick a thumbs-up and a smile he knows isn’t convincing.  “Great,” he says.  

“The flight get to you?” Patrick asks.  He’s intimately familiar with Pete’s past airplane-based issues, and they make a good enough excuse.

“Uh,” says Pete.  “Kind of.  Yeah.  It did.”

“Take care of yourself,” Patrick says, clapping Pete on the back.  Pete leans into bump Patrick’s shoulder with his own and realizes too late that he’s breaking another rule.  He ricochets back, feeling like he’s caught in Patrick’s gravity no matter how he tries to escape.

“I’m trying,” Pete says, so Patrick doesn’t notice that he’s being weird again.  “Promise.”  That one is true enough for Patrick to believe, and he nods at Pete before pulling out his phone.  Pete forces a smile and does the same.  If he can just make it through an hour of this, then he can go have some time and space to himself to decompress, or distract himself, or whatever the fuck it is he needs to do so he’s not tempted to wolf out in the middle of Japan.  

It’s not the most comforting thought, but it’s the only thing Pete has to hang on to.

__

—

__

Pete’s much-needed hour of alone time is actually more like ten, once night falls and they return to their respective hotel rooms, but in retrospect it’s not nearly enough.  They have a show, of course, which goes well—it’s not Pete’s personal best, but he’s practiced enough at stage patter that he doesn’t have to be on to be good—and the requisite publicity.  Both require him to pay a certain amount of attention to Patrick, but he’s used to that.  The issue is the time in between, spent exploring and being tourists, that feels like a vacation.  Like a series of never-ending dates.

When Joe asks if anyone wants to get a drink, late on the third night of their trip, Pete says yes assuming it’ll just be the two of them.  He’s not prepared when Patrick shows up, looking soft and tired.  “I thought you’d be in bed,” Pete says.  “We have that thing tomorrow?”

“It’s not until late,” Patrick says.  “And how often do we get to spend time in Japan?”

He’s right; they should enjoy it while they’re here.  It’s just that it would be a lot easier for Pete if Patrick wasn’t actually here and he could actually let himself relax, rather than having to constantly hold himself back.  He lingers over his first beer as Patrick moves on to another round, turning slightly giggly and louder as the beer sets in.  He also moves closer to Pete—hand just brushing Pete’s shoulder as he makes a point every once in awhile—and Pete has to make an effort not to lean into it.  By the time they make it back to their hotel rooms he’s not sure if the buzz he’s feeling is from the beer, or from Patrick’s casual affection.  

The next morning when they go out, Pete walks into every boutique he sees.  It’s a tried-and-true method for getting some time to himself; Andy’s the first to peel off, citing some other discovery (it might be a CrossFit gym; Pete’s not really paying attention), and Joe leaves soon after.  For his part, Patrick keeps the conversation lively and stares longingly at the cat cafes when he thinks Pete’s not looking.

“Just go,” Pete says, after the fifth one  “I’ll do some shopping on my own, you can cuddle with the cats, everyone’s happy.”

“Don’t you want to try it?” Patrick says.

“Are you asking if I have a death wish?” Pete says.  He’s met a few cats over the years that aren’t completely repulsed by the smell of him, but he doesn’t want to try his odds by walking into an establishment full of them.  

“You know what I mean,” Patrick says.  

Pete has to admit he does, and not just because the image of Patrick surrounded by cats is doing something funny to his insides.  “It sounds nice,” he relents.  “If we ever find a puppy cafe, I’m so in.”

Patrick snorts.  “If we ever find one of those I think it’ll be the day I lose you to another life."  He doesn’t go in the cat cafe, and waits for Pete to try on three different pairs of pants at the shop next door instead.  

“Seriously,” Pete says afterward,  “You can go do whatever, you don’t have to watch over me.”  Given how long ago the others left, there’s no way that Patrick is still here out of the goodness of his heart.  

“Can’t a guy hang out with his best friend?” Patrick says.  “Oh hey, is that more of those amazing sweet potatoes?”

Before he can start off toward the street vendor, Pete grabs his arm.  “I’m fine,” he says.  “Patrick.  I am.  I felt a little bit off at first, but you know how I am about flying.”

“Yeah, you said that.  But I thought about it, and you were already acting weird before we got on the plane,” Patrick says  “I know you’re not going to…” He breaks off without finishing his thought.  “It’s just been awhile since you were at panic-attacks-in-airplane-bathrooms levels.  That’s all.”  

“It wasn’t a panic attack,” Pete grits out.  He’s not lying: figuring out how to act around Patrick isn’t exactly a walk in the park, but it’s nothing compared to what he’s been through.

“Okay,” Patrick says.  “Then are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“There’s nothing going on!”  

Pete can almost see Patrick counting to five in his head before he responds.  “Did I do something?” He asks, a slight edge to his voice the only sign that he’s irritated.  “Are you…mad at me?”

Pete was well prepared to just be angry at this problem until it went away but somehow Patrick always manages to sidestep his worst intentions without knowing it.  “No,” Pete says.  “No, of course not.  It’s not about _you_.”  Patrick knows all his tells, so Pete really hopes he’s managed to convince himself that it is, indeed, completely his problem and not anyone else’s.

“Really?”  Patrick says.  “Because I don’t see you running away from Joe and Andy.”

Pete sighs.  “They’re not you,” he says, which is about as vague as he can be while still giving Patrick an answer he’ll be happy with.  “They left already anyway.  Can you just give me some time to figure it out please?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick says.  “Are you going to keep avoiding me for the rest of this trip?  Because I was looking forward to hanging out with you.”  

Pete pauses just a bit too long before he answers.  “Of course not,” he says.  “We can hang.”  He can see Patrick’s jaw tighten.

“I’ll go find the others,” Patrick says, looking down the street.  “Have fun with your shopping.”  

It takes all of Pete’s self-control to not yell after Patrick to stop—and he knows there’s a part of his brain that would do literally anything to spend time with Patrick, but honestly this is a bit much—and he’s aware he looks like a total cliche, watching the man he loves walk away from him with a forlorn look on his face.  

Even shopping isn’t the same without Patrick there to make faces at Pete’s edgier choices, so Pete lets the rhythm of the street take him, wandering past storefronts and cafes, businesses and apartment buildings like the city is his own.  It doesn’t make him feel better, but somehow in the bustle of the city, it seems to matter less that he’s alone.    

__

—

__

Joe spends the rest of the trip running interference without Pete even asking, and Pete tries to act as normal as possible while also not seeking out Patrick’s company any more than is strictly necessary.  It’s not an easy balance to strike but he manages to do all right with the others there.  He keeps a countdown on his phone that he can glance at to reassure himself that they're getting closer to the end of this trip, when he can go home and think about things in peace (if he’s not too busy feeling like his heart was ripped out of his chest like he did the last time).

Patrick either accepts Pete’s behavior as normal enough to not merit worry, or is taking his promise to not bug Pete about it very seriously, because he doesn’t bring it up again.  They do touristy things as a group and Pete does a bit more shopping alone, and pretends that he’s not cataloguing every look and touch like it will somehow help him figure a way out of this mess.

On the flight back to Los Angeles, Pete somehow ends up next to Joe.  His body can’t possibly be feeling the distance from Patrick already, mostly because he’s no more than twenty feet away at any time, but he’s unsettled nonetheless.  He manages to sleep for about half the flight and spends the rest trying (and failing) to not glance Patrick’s way every five seconds just in case he needs Pete or something.

When Pete realizes what he’s doing, he swears at himself; he needs to find someone (other than Joe) who can help him figure out what’s going on.  His yearning to be with Patrick is definitely getting worse.  Once he makes it home, intentions are twice delayed; he’s first knocked on his ass by jet lag, and then by the fact that he overdid it with the Patrick thing.  In the end, it’s a week and a half before he gets up the energy to call Gabe.  

“Ah,” Gabe says, once Pete’s told him the whole story over a six-pack of beer (Gabe had maintained the conversation was too delicate to be had over the phone, so Pete had countered that it was too intense to be done without alcohol).  “You, my friend, are fucked, and in love.”

“No fucking shit,” Pete says.  

Gabe raises a finger.  “I wasn’t done,” he says.  “The rest being this: you, when it comes to Patrick, have always been fucked and in love.  So how did you used to deal with it?”

Pete thinks back to the fights, the anonymous hookups, the illicit substances.  “Not well.”

“Well,” Gabe says.  “We have our work cut out for us.”

It turns out that Gabe has never known anyone with Pete’s unique situation before, because most of the were-community would rather risk rejection than deal with the constant suffering that comes with being just friends with your mate.

“You really are a special one,” Gabe says.  

“You know why I can’t tell him,” Pete replies.

“Is this the same Pete who told me that love would always find a way?”

Pete doesn’t dignify that with a response, because Gabe never had to deal with shit like this.  

When Gabe figures out there’s no response forthcoming, he loses some of his levity.  “You were doing okay with this until recently, yeah?” He says.  “Maybe you just need to figure out what changed.”

Pete’s gone over it in his head a million times but he still doesn’t have a good answer.  “It can’t all be because he said I was hot once, can it?”

Gabe raises an eyebrow.  “This happened, and you didn’t write five hundred shitty songs about it and have a minor breakdown in my text messages?”

“Fuck off,” Pete says.  “It was a joke.  Or…he implied it.”  

“It can’t be both,” Gabe says.  "But—fine.  We’ll leave that aside for now.  Tell me what you thought your life would be like after finding a mate?”

Of course Pete has extensive and elaborate fantasies regarding the matter; they all do.  But he’ll spare Gabe the details.  “I guess I thought it would be like people said, you know?  I’d know, and we’d get together and get married.  Get a new house, maybe, unless they wanted to move in with me.  And have kids.  Or adopt.  And it might not be perfect but it would be someone…someone else who got me.  Like Patrick does.”

He doesn’t look at Gabe as he finishes because he doesn’t want any more pity at this point.

“And Patrick?” Gabe asks.

“What do you mean?”

“What about him?”

“He’d still be my best friend,” Pete says.  “He’d be in my band and he’d come over all the time because my kids couldn’t grow up not knowing him.  And we could hang out as much as I wanted because it wouldn’t make me feel shitty afterward.”  

“Okay,” Gabe says.  “And what if you were a human?  And you hadn’t lived your whole life knowing you would one day magically find your mate?”

“I’m not,” Pete says.

“Humor me,” says Gabe.  “What about Patrick then?”

It’s hard to separate his feelings for Patrick now from the feelings he’d had _before_ but Pete tries to think back, to imagine who he’d be as a human, without this mess around to fuck him up.  He’d be an entirely different person—except the parts of him that wouldn’t be, but that’s more of a conversation for his therapist.

“The same?” he says.

Gabe honest-to-god rolls his eyes and grabs another beer.  “You’re trying to tell me that you wouldn’t have made a move on Patrick even though you wouldn’t have to worry about hurting him by finding a mate that wasn’t him?”

“No?” Pete says.  He’s doesn’t follow the question.  “I would have…we agreed that I would fuck up the band if I mixed it with my personal life.  I messed up relationships for so much less than having a mate that I didn’t choose.”

“Sure,” says Gabe.  “And you spent years in love with the guy of your own volition anyway.”

“I wasn’t—“ Pete tries to protest.

“I’m just saying, man” Gabe says.  “How often do you look at him these days and not see the guy you want to start a family with.”

“That’s low,” Pete says.

“Maybe,” says Gabe.  “But I’m not bringing anything new to the table here.  Kinda just pointing at the cards that you have, as it were.”

“My point is that I have a shitty hand,” Pete says. “If we’re going with metaphors.”

“Yeah, and I’m trying to help you make it less shitty,” says Gabe.  “I know you’re caught up on the fact that you wouldn’t have chosen this, but I don’t know if that’s true.”

“It’s not about me,” Pete says.  

Gabe casts an eye over him and Pete knows he must look pathetic, half drunk at two in the afternoon over a problem that has an obvious solution  “Do you plan to keep telling yourself that while you mope around for the rest of your life?” Gabe asks.  “Just, you know, so I can be prepared for the future.”

“Fuck off,” Pete says again.  “Give me another beer.”

Gabe cracks one open and passes it over without a word.  It’s not much of a comfort but Pete supposes that at this point it’s about all he’s going to get.  

__

—

__

Pete’s not prepared for the full moon when it comes; though some part of him knows that logically, time must have been passing, it doesn’t seem like it’s been long enough since Japan.  He’s feels like an automaton just going through the motions but he goes through them anyway because he’ll change tonight no matter what he does.  And maybe that’s what he needs—a chance to be away from his human life for awhile.  Maybe it will be the thing that makes him feel okay again, and convinces him that living like this is possible.  

When he pulls up into the dirt parking lot that the pack uses as a meeting place of sorts, his senses kick into high alert.  Not quite dusk yet, his body isn’t crying out to change, but elements of it always slip in early.  Pete parks his car and jolts out of it.  He sees the problem a split second before a dark-haired woman throws a punch aimed at the nose of the man who’s talking to her.

Pete hurries over, holding out his hands to placate the woman, who still looks like she’s ready to kill.

“Maria, hey, we’re not going to fight you,” says another guy Pete’s seen around before.  He doesn’t know half of these people’s names because they never talk when they’re humans, but his senses are sharpened well enough that he can recognize them by scent.  The woman too—Maria.  He doesn’t think she grew up in Chicago but she’s been with them a fair few years.

While the other man holds Maria’s attention, Pete turns to the guy she punched.  He’s back on his feet, bloodied, but it’s nothing that won't heal within a few minute of the change.  

“You need a hand?” he asks.

“I’ll live,” the guy says.  “But Maria—well, she just found her mate two days ago.”

Something about his tone tells Pete that her story might be worse than his.  “And?”

“She saw him while he was out at a restaurant.  With his wife and kids.”

“Shit,” Pete says.  “That’s cruel.”

“Yeah,” the guy says.  “Since then she’s—well, she’s driving all of us crazy.  But then I think of how it must feel for her and….”

“She’ll cool off,” Pete says.  “You just have to get her through it.”

The guy gives Pete a curious look; he’s about to ask what Pete’s deal is when Joe comes up behind Pete.  “Everything cool?” he asks.

“Hey,” Pete says, letting Joe pull him into a hug.  “I think they’ve about got it covered.  But we’ll watch out for Maria tonight.”  He directs the last part at the guy he’s been talking to and gets a salute in return.

“Who’s Maria?” Joe asks, once the guy’s gone off to try to help out some more—and hopefully not get punched again.

“Over there,” Pete says.  “She’s having a hard time with her mate.”

Joe levels a piercing look at Pete, but Pete ignores it to walk back toward his car, shedding his shirt as he goes.  “Fuck, I miss LA,” he says, when the cold air hits his skin.  Joe doesn’t reply, probably because he’s unimpressed by Pete’s avoidance tactics, but it doesn’t matter: not half a minute later the change has worked its way through Pete’s body and the world is a delight once more.

Pete doesn’t have to think about anything of import for the rest of the night, but when he’s alone the next day he can’t stop dwelling on the events of the night prior.

_See, I’m not the only one_ , he texts Joe, after catching him up on what he’d missed.  He has no idea how things with Maria have been since then, but she’d stuck close to the pack for the whole of the night previous so she must be doing a bit better than Pete has, in the past.

_Guarantee you she’s not going to try to be best friends with the guy_ , Joe texts back.  Pete re-reads his reply and then checks the time—and yeah, Joe probably isn’t awake enough to not be an asshole about this right now.  

The stinger is that Joe’s right, and Gabe’s right, and even Pete’s therapist is right, though he’s pretty sure she’ll never actually understand this part of him.  There’s no precedent for him, or what he’s doing, and all the models available for comparison look pretty grim.  The more he dwells on it, the worse he feels.

At least this part, he has the tools to handle: rather than waste more time on something he’s not going to get, he pulls out one of his notebooks to see if he can string some words together.  It’s been awhile since he actually sent anything to Patrick.  Though he’s practiced at culling anything too revealing before Patrick sees his words, he still re-reads what he’s written before copying it into an email for Patrick.  There’s nothing there that would tip his hand—but Patrick calls him not fifteen minutes later.

“Hello?” Pete says, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Hey,” Patrick says.  “Great stuff.”

“Thanks,” Pete says, letting out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.  “But don’t tell me you have a song already because even for you, that’s freaky fast.”

Patrick laughs on the other side of the line and it makes something flare up inside of Pete.  It’s going to be a goddamn problem if he can’t even handle phone conversations anymore, because Patrick prefers actually talking to texts or emails, and Pete prefers whatever keeps Patrick happy.

“No,” he says.  “Like, some thoughts?  But definitely no.”

“Okay,” Pete says, “because if you start outpacing me it’s gonna be a bad day all around.”

“Take your time,” Patrick promises.  “I thought we agreed we’re not in any rush?”

“No!” Pete says, “No, totally not.  Time off is good, right?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says.  The silence sounds like he’s going to say something more, so Pete waits it out.  

“Are you…” Patrick says.  “How have you been since we got back?”

“I’m fine,” Pete says, reflexively.  He knows before he finishes the words that he sounds defensive.  “I just need a bit to…get my head on straight.”  

“Wow, look at you handling your problems like an adult,” Patrick says.  It’s a joke, with a hint of a sting, but Pete agrees.  Especially given what Patrick knows: that he could be doing a whole lot worse.

“Yeah,” Pete says, “I’ve got it covered.  It’s cool.”  

There's a pause, like Patrick's trying to figure out whether to believe him.  “In that case, do you want to go grab a drink tonight?”

“Oh,” says Pete.  “Um, raincheck on that?  I didn’t actually get a whole lot done yesterday, because, you know.”

“Right,” Patrick says.  “Let me know when you’re free, then.  And Pete…if you need someone to talk to, I’m here, okay?”

“Yeah,” Pete says.  “Yeah, I know.  Thanks.”  Patrick’s insistence on supporting Pete through his various attempts at avoidance only make his guilt resurface in his chest. Maybe that’s why Patrick’s doing it.  But no: that’s Pete’s paranoia speaking.  Patrick’s just trying to be a good friend.  Besides, if he really wanted to force Pete into saying something he wouldn’t move the conversation in a different direction like he does, giving Pete a chance to catch his breath.  When they finally hang up Pete doesn’t feel better, exactly—these days, spending time with Patrick seems to give him the satisfaction as peeling a scab, and it ends about as well.  But the second the line goes blank the temptation to call Patrick back rears its head.  Left unchecked, that part of Pete might tell Patrick everything just to keep him on the phone.  

Pete’s no stranger to bad choices borne from pathetic desperation, but at least this time he has the wisdom to stop himself.  If he were a better person, he’d put his phone down and go away completely; find something else to occupy his time.  He doesn’t; and Patrick, displaying his uncanny ability to know Pete better than any other person ought, keeps the conversation going with inane texts for the rest of the evening.  Pete being himself, he manages to stretch it into the next day, which is why he finds himself half-dozing on the couch, phone in hand, when he hears someone pounding on his door.

_brb don’t miss me too much_ , Pete texts, well aware of the irony, before he hauls himself up and makes his way to the door.  The pounding starts again right before he makes it, and he hears Joe yell, “I know you’re fucking awake, so open the door.”

Pete does so before Joe damages his doorframe in a lasting way.  There’d better be a good excuse for his urgency.

“You okay?” Pete asks, as Joe comes in.

“No,” Joe says emphatically.  “Give me your phone.”

“What?”  Joe reaches out, so he hands it over reflexively.  “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Joe says.  “Except I was trying to hang out with Patrick this morning but he kept looking at his phone because apparently having flirty conversations over text message was more exciting than my company.”  

A wave of jealousy rises in Pete’s stomach before he realizes what Joe is saying.  “I—we weren’t flirting,” he says.  “We were just texting.   Which, by the way, is one of the things my therapist and I agreed was a healthy way to maintain our relationship without making things hard on myself.”

“Do you want me to read your messages back to you?” Joe asks, unlocking Pete’s phone.  Pete lunges for it, but Joe pulls it back out of reach.  

“Two weeks ago you were on team ‘why don’t you tell him,’” he points out.

“Yeah,” Joe says.  “ _Tell_ him, not confuse him by sending flirty text messages, but then blowing him off when he tries to make plans because it’ll be too much.  Don’t deny it,” he says, when Pete opens his mouth to protest.  “I know you, Pete.”

Pete doesn’t quite know what to say to that one because he knows it's true.

“Go sit down,” Joe says. “I’ll make us food.  But I’m keeping your phone for a few more minutes.”  

Pete flops down on the sofa, because if he’s laying down he probably won’t have to meet Joe’s eyes while they talk about how pathetic he is.  _Again_.  He gets a good few minutes of self-pity in while Joe’s fussing in the kitchen, and then Joe comes out to join him with chips and sandwiches.  He drops Pete’s phone on the sofa with a whump and Pete turns to look at him.

“What, I get it back now?” He says.  “No more lectures?”

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Joe says.  “Do you want me to stop you?”

“Yes?” Pete tries.  He unlocks his phone to see Patrick’s reply ( _no prob, I should do some laundry anyway_ ) and then makes himself put it down again.  “I don’t know, man.  You’re the expert here.”

“If you’re talking about actually trying something with your mate, sure,” Joe says.  “Tell me, Pete, what’s the worst thing that you think could happen?”

“I—seriously?  Even if he doesn’t freak out and decide he needs space for awhile and then completely stops being my best friend, he’s not…nothing would happen.  At best, he would—try.  To do what he could for me, even though I’m not his mate.  And he would feel terrible about the fact that he couldn’t do anything to make it better, and I would still feel like shit all the time because we wouldn’t spend every moment of our lives together.”

“You could move in together,” Joe says.  “He’d probably be okay with that.”

“Sure, until he started dating someone,” Pete says.  “That would be fun.  ‘Oh hi, this is my roommate who is also in freaky werewolf-love with me and I’m living with him so he doesn’t feel terrible all the time, but I can totally still devote myself to you, it’s great!’  He’d either have to trash every relationship he had before it got too serious, or he’d move out and I would be fucked for the rest of my life.”

“I just want to state, for the record, that you are the one throwing up obstacles here,” says Joe.  “Look, I know that people like Patrick and Marie won’t ever really get what it’s like for us.  But they can still care for us, you know? Just…in a human way.”

“Maybe Marie cares in a human way,” Pete says.

Joe gives him a long look.  “Patrick cares enough that he answers your dumb flirty texts,” Joe says.  “So maybe you need to get your head out of your ass and tell him.”

“Thanks for your understanding,” Pete says, surreptitiously checking his phone again.  There aren’t any new texts, which is maybe for the best given the catalyst of this conversation.  

Joe shrugs.  “Sympathy didn’t work so I figured I’d try a different tactic,” he says.  “Are you going to call him?”

Pete puts his phone back down.  “No,” he says.  

“Fine,” says Joe.  “Then maybe you should lay off on the texting, too.”

He leaves shortly after that and despite his advice, Pete pulls out his phone again.  _I can’t believe u hung out w Joe instead of me._

_Joe actually wanted to hang out_ , Patrick replies.  _Is that what it takes to get you out of the house? I have to invite Joe first?_

_we should though.  all of us_ , Pete writes back.  It wasn’t what Patrick meant but it seems like the right move—for him, for them, to be able to see each other without things being weird.  And maybe if he can just get used to the band dynamic again, it’ll help Pete reset, go back to where he was, and he can re-learn how to survive on Patrick’s friendship.  

__

—

__

“Hey,” Patrick says, when Pete shows up at the bar they’d all agreed to meet at.  He’d suggested it ostensibly so they could catch the game together, but its main attraction is the atmosphere that’s guaranteed to discourage anything deeper than idle chatter.  For that, Pete had figured either a sports bar or an obnoxious club would work, and the former had been a much easier sell.  The choice of venue doesn’t stop Patrick from hugging Pete the moment he arrives, or settling into the chair next to him when they're led to a table on the patio, but surely Pete can deal with those things.

“You good?” Patrick asks, as Pete fails to stop himself from compulsively fiddling with his phone.

“Yeah,” Pete says.  

“It’s good to see you for once,” Patrick says.  “Instead of just talking on the phone.”

Pete almost says, _yeah, but when we talk in person you always get distracted by my cute face_ before realizing at the last second that’s not a good idea.  “I told you we’d hang,” he says.

“Yeah well you still owe me one from last time,” Patrick says.  “Since the first time I only invited you.”

Pete has to bite his tongue again to keep from saying something that could be construed as flirting.  Maybe Joe had more of a point than he realized.  “It’s not something serious, is it?” he asks.  “You’re not quitting on us?”

“Please,” Patrick says.  “I’m not going to quit on you.  You know that.”

He doesn’t say, _tell that to my heart_.  He doesn’t say, _you would if you knew_.  He has to redirect so he doesn’t say anything stupid, because it turns out that sports bar or no, Patrick’s turned this conversation perilous.  “How are you doing?” He says. “You’ve spent so much time worrying about me that I…”

“Don’t put it all on me,” Patrick says.  “You’ve been pretty wrapped up in…whatever it is you won’t talk about.  But I’m good.  Nostalgic, maybe.”

“Are you sure you correctly remember the past?” Pete says.  He doesn’t have to add that the now is so much better, because Patrick already knows.

Patrick’s smile is understanding and loving and sad, all at once.  “It got us here,” he points out.

Pete falls silent for a second, letting the noise of the bar wash over him; Joe and Andy are talking on the other side of the table, but they could be in a different world right now as far as his brain is concerned.  “Barely,” Pete says.  The joke he’s trying for doesn’t quite land because there are some wounds that will always sting.

“We are,” Patrick says.  “You and me both.  But sometimes I think…I wonder if we could have done it better.”

For a second, Pete swears Patrick’s about to reach out and grab his hand and his heart stops.  But no: this isn’t the fantasy world where he gets everything he wants.  It’s just real life.  “Since when did you start reflecting on the past that much?” He jokes, and Patrick rewards him with a light chuckle.

“What, do you have a lock on midlife crises?” He shoots back.

“Hey,” Pete says.  “Who says that’s what I’m doing?”

Patrick shrugs.  “I mean, call it what you want,” Patrick says.  “But I know you, and I know how you get when you’re not sure that what you have is what you want, so, I think that’s pretty fair.”

Pete can only stare at Patrick; it’s like he _knows_ , like he’s trying to tell Pete something.  If he is, Pete doesn’t have a fucking clue what that might be.

“As long as you’re happy,” Patrick says.  “That’s all.  I just want to be there for you, wherever you end up.”

“Thanks, man,” Pete says, after a pause that’s a second too long.  He chugs his beer, and the waiter comes by with their appetizers, and then he’s just another guy hanging out with his best friends and arguing over what’s going to happen in the next season of _Game of Thrones_.

He tries not to feel Patrick’s eyes on him for the rest of the night, but it’s like a sixth sense he can’t shake off.  Despite everything he’s been better lately, finally readjusting to life apart from Patrick, but that just means there’s fewer barriers to keep his brain from being on Patrick alert at all times.  Even the bar isn’t as much a distraction as Pete had hoped; it’s loud, and the game isn’t worth watching.  When the waiter comes back to ask what else he can get them, they all exchange a look and Andy asks for the check.  

“Damn,” says Pete, as they leave right as a bad call causes a rash of booing in the bar.  “We’re getting old.”

“Speak for yourself,” Patrick says.  He gives Pete another hug before he leaves and Pete grins at him like everything’s fine.  Patrick may not be convinced by his display but to be fair, Pete’s actions over the past few months don’t really inspire confidence.  

Still, Pete has to make sure that’s all it is—so after he waves Patrick off, he casually follows Joe down the sidewalk.  “Did you tell him?” He hisses, well aware that Andy’s wandering away at approximately the speed of a drifting leaf.

“What? No,” Joe says.  “But I guess if you’re asking, you didn’t either, huh.”  

“I think you would have noticed that,” Pete says.

“I dunno,” Joe says.  “You two were pretty cozy.  I thought maybe you’d decided to follow through.”

“I’m not going to put him in that position,” Pete says.  On some level, it’s getting harder for him to believe that he won’t.  But it would be the wrong choice.

Joe gives him a look that he can’t quite read and for the first time Pete regrets telling him.  Joe means well—he knows that.  But it’s sort of impossible to mean well for someone and to also wish a relationship with Pete upon them.  

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” Joe says.  “So tell me, Pete, if you do this your way where do things end?”

“I’ll be fine,” Pete lies, because it’s the only thing there is to say.

“I’m not just talking about you,” Joe says.  Then, “have you ever considered that your life wouldn’t be so hard if you didn’t constantly do things that made it hard on yourself?”  

The idea has been introduced to Pete by his therapist, many times.  But there’s no way it applies to this.

“It’s your choice,” Joe says in the end.  “But I’d rather not have to see you miserable for the rest of our lives.”

Pete shrugs because there’s not really an answer to that.  Joe just gives him a hug and tells him to not be a stranger, and to not do anything stupid.  

“Thanks,” Pete says, with a wry smile.  “You too.”  He wanders to his car and sits behind the wheel, but he doesn’t leave for a long time, Joe’s question still reverberating in his head.

__

—

__

The next day, Pete’s sure some of Patrick’s melancholy has worn off on him because it’s all he can do to pull himself off the sofa to check the mail.  He orders donuts delivered straight to his door and spends far too long buying new clothes on the internet.  It’s a comfortable stupor, but his mind keeps clicking back to the previous night when he can’t help it.  It’s true that he hasn’t ever thought much beyond the present with this Patrick thing.  He blames that on the pull he’s felt ever since he found out; it’s not designed to be patient or measured.  It’s impulsive and urgent and everything Pete has been trying not to be anymore.  

This time the withdrawal phase passes faster than ever and Pete congratulates himself with the knowledge that he’s turned a corner.  He’s not perfectly happy, but neither is he miserable, as Joe suggested.  And since this is working, that means he doesn’t actually need to jeopardize the best friendship he’s ever had.  His newfound equilibrium holds for all of four days before Patrick texts him, _Wanna do dinner tonight? I’ll cook._

Pete has been planning to order in and maybe find something to watch on Netflix, but suddenly that sounds a lot less exciting.  On the other hand, there’s no way he can handle going over to Patrick’s for a home cooked meal.  They’ve eaten together—usually in the middle of work, when they realize it’s late, or when they’re hanging out and neither wants to leave—but being invited over just for dinner sounds…well, like a date.  Obviously Patrick doesn’t mean it that way; he probably just wants to do something and isn’t available until later.

_Sorry, tonight’s bad for me_ , Pete writes back.  

_What about tomorrow?_   Patrick asks.

Pete stares at his phone.  He wishes he hadn’t answered the first one because now Patrick knows he’s around, and that means he doesn’t have time to panic and rethink everything he's ever done before he answers.

_Maybe coffee instead?_   Pete asks.  That’s casual enough that he should be able to handle it, and Patrick will still get to see him.

_Sure_ , Patrick writes back.  _Tomorrow morning, then?_

They’ll probably just meet at whatever Starbucks is approximately between them, which is fine.  But when Patrick texts later, it’s with the location of a small, independent cafe on Pete’s side of town.  Pete doesn’t bother to google it because coffee snobbery has always been more Patrick’s thing than his.  When he walks in the door, the place is cuter than he'd imagined.  And then he spots Patrick in a corner booth, smiling in his direction.  Pete’s stomach does a flip.

“Hey,” he says, making his way over to Patrick.

“Hey,” Patrick says.  “I got here a bit early and figured I’d snag us a good table.”

“It’s nice,” Pete manages.

“I hear their lattes are really good here,” Patrick offers.

They make their way up to the front counter and place their orders; it’s quiet enough that the barista tells them she’ll bring their drinks over when they’re ready.  Pete was almost hoping for the excuse to loiter by the counter for a few minutes but instead he nods and thanks her and stuffs a twenty in the tip jar.  Maybe she’ll see him freaking out and take pity on him.  

It turns out that Patrick doesn’t have a specific reason for suggesting they meet.  “Is just wanting to see you not enough?” He asks, with a quirk of a smile, and Pete grins back before he can help himself.

Patrick being Patrick, he prepared for their outing by loading a few snippets of his work onto his phone.  He doesn’t even ask Pete if he wants to hear—just passes an earbud over the table for him.

“This way we can both hear,” he says with a shrug.  “I’ll email you later so you can listen to them with real headphones.”

Pete nods and lets Patrick play through them, explaining his idea for the parts he hasn’t finished yet, and floating his plans for instrumentation, effects, and some producers that can help them pull the thing together.  They’ve had this chat a million times, but it’s an entirely different experience in a coffee shop.  Pete’s a paranoid dick for making them do this here.

“If you’d told me you had music I would have made time to come to your place,” he says, chagrined.

“It’s fine,” Patrick says. “We can do this some other time.  I just thought you might want…”

“I do,” Pete says too quickly.  “I just—didn’t want to make this awkward.”

“How is it awkward?”

Pete gestures at them sharing a pair of earbuds over the table, at a table that’s probably a date spot for more than one couple.

Patrick shakes his head and laughs.  “With all the things you’ve done in your life, you think _this_ is weird?”

It shouldn’t be; it wouldn’t be if Pete hadn’t been overanalyzing everything about Patrick for the past six months.  “Yeah, okay,” he admits, rather than trying to make excuses for his behavior.  Pete swears Patrick’s feet brush up against his as he answers but he refuses to react.

“What else have you been doing lately?” he asks, handing Patrick’s earbud back.  “You’ve been keeping busy, right?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, lighting up.  “I’m over 50 percent fluent in Italian now.”

“That’s great,” Pete says.  Unbidden, images of Patrick’s mouth shaping around the unfamiliar long values and unfamiliar pronunciations pops into his mind and it takes a moment for Pete to banish them.

“We should tour in Italy next time,” Patrick says.  “Or just visit.  Take a vacation.”

“Aren’t we on vacation right now?” Pete asks.  The writing they’re doing now barely counts because they don’t have a deadline—it’s just because Pete rarely makes it a week without writing some sort of lyrics, and Patrick basically thinks in music.  It’s not something either of them could turn off, even if they wanted to.

They stay in the cafe far longer than is probably polite, and Pete’s pretty sure at least one couple who’s after their booth gives them a dirty look when they don’t leave.  Pete’s not trying to drag things out but the nature of his and Patrick’s friendship is that they can talk for hours about hardly anything—or sit in silence, lost in their own thoughts, and still be happier together than they would be alone.  At one point, Patrick goes back up to the counter to order them scones and get a refill on his coffee; he comes back with another drink for Pete as well.  “I slipped another ten in the tip jar,” he says, “So maybe they won’t kick us out yet.”

Pete accepts the latte gratefully—it’s a different flavor; Patrick must have noticed that the hazelnut one Pete ordered earlier hadn’t quite been what he wanted—and tries one of the scones for good measure.  By the time they head out the morning has turned into a crisp, sunny afternoon and Pete feels invincible as he walks back to his place.

Maybe it’s just the caffeine or maybe it’s something else, but the feeling wears off throughout the day until Pete’s left back where he was before: tracing his way through the pattern of his days like they’re just another puzzle to be solved.  He’s content enough to be half-working, waking up at least once a week to a new file in his email from Patrick, and to have some time to himself.  It’s like he’s finding himself again, learning who he is in a way he hasn’t since this thing with Patrick came in and upended his life, but it turns out that he still has everything he had before even if it looks different.

It takes Pete a whole week of visiting new cafes and taking walks around his neighborhood and re-reading books he’s always loved to realize that whoever he is now, this might be the final phase of his evolution.  It’s not that his life will be stagnant, if for no other reason than that Pete’s far too determined to let that happen.  But no matter how he chooses to address the Patrick thing, it’s going to be more than a bad week here and there, and not something that’s confined like his weekly round of therapy.  It means that no matter how many close friends he has he’s forever going to be coming home to an empty house and even on his best days he’ll have to deal with that.  For the first time he understands what Joe means and suddenly it feels a lot less like something to be handled.

Pete chews on the revelation for a few days, pulling out his private journal to scribble down his thoughts, unfiltered and raw.  It doesn’t help that the full moon is close, making his emotions run stronger and his loneliness more profound.  The day before the full moon, Pete accepts what he has to do.  He picks up his phone and texts Joe, _Can you come over?_

_A couple of hours?_ Joe asks.  That gives Pete enough time to dig through the unsent emails and scribbled pages and word documents to get the pieces he needs.  A thorough search of his desk confirms his suspicions that he doesn’t have the large envelopes he’s always in need of, but he finds an old folder which will be good enough for his purposes.  He’s in the middle of making coffee when Joe shows up and Pete motions him toward the couch.

It’s easy to read the concern in Joe’s eyes; something of Pete’s anxiety must show in his face.  He gets them both coffees, not bothering with the small talk, and slurps on his for a second before pulling out the folder and handing it over to Joe.

“Will you look at this?” he asks.

The concern on Joe’s face only grows more pronounced and Pete wishes he had the words to reassure him, but he’s still not positive he’s doing the right thing.  He’s just doing the only thing he can.

He squirms while Joe reads what’s basically a testament to everything Pete’s been trying to push down since this started, some of it probably containing much more information than Joe ever wanted.  But it’s too late to stop him now, and it’s all going to Patrick regardless.  

When Joe makes it through the folder, he’s silent for a moment.  Then he says, “Are you going to…”

Pete nods.  “I’ll drop it off for him tomorrow,” he says, and for a moment the heaviness in his chest lifts.  “I can’t.  I don’t want to talk about it with him right now.  But he should know.”

Joe nods, slowly.  “I’m glad you decided to tell him,” he says.  Without asking, he leans over to hug Pete.  “I remember when I told Marie,” he says.  “I mean, first I had to do the werewolf reveal, because she wanted us to go on a show that was on the night of a full moon.  Like, really wanted.  She wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Joe says.  “She, uh, tried to break up with me because she thought I was feeding her the world’s worst excuse.  I swore to her I wasn’t lying, but she went to the show with her friends and ignored me.  And that weekend did a bunch of research, I guess.”

“But she decided to believe you, right?” Pete asks, in the pause that follows.  Joe’s never told him this story before.  He remembers the week that Joe’s talking about, when Joe was convinced he’d ruined everything and it was all Pete could do to keep him from doing anything stupid after the full moon hit.  All he knows is that in a week Joe and Marie had decided to move in together and Joe’s happiness was so complete it was almost contagious.

“It took her a bit to actually accept it,” Joe says.  “I actually told her about you then too.  I thought maybe it would convince her if she knew that I wasn’t the only one…but anyway, she showed up at my place early in the morning, brandishing printouts and demanding to know which of them were true.”  Joe stops again, fiddling with the folder.  “And then when I’d gotten rid of the worst myths she said, 'so someday you’re just going to mate with another werewolf and forget about me?  Tell me why I should even bother.'  And so I had to tell her.”  

“But you’d been together a bit at that point,” Pete says, “right?”

“Four months,” Joe says.  “I figured I would wait…at least a year.  Maybe until we moved in together.  When I told her she didn’t say anything for so long that I thought it was over.  That I should have lied.” He lets out a breath.  “But then she told me if that was the case then she guessed we should start looking for apartments together because otherwise we were just wasting time.”

Pete’s smiling softly by the end of the story because he can feel Joe’s contentment even now.  

“Anyhow,” Joe says.  “I can’t tell you what’s going to happen.  But at least you’re giving Patrick a chance to make his own choice.”

This time Pete doesn’t say anything about how Patrick’s going to react, because Joe’s right.  All he can do is his part, and the rest is out of his hands.

__

—

__

Pete wakes up early the next morning, body already jittery with nervous energy.  His plan is to drop the folder with Patrick on his way out to meet the rest of the pack, but that means he has almost a whole day to kill before then and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.  He tries to make a fancy drink with the espresso machine in his kitchen but Patrick’s the only one who ever manages to use it right, and after three tries Pete gives up and just makes himself a plain old coffee instead.  When he goes to wash up after the result of his experiments he somehow doesn’t stop working until his entire kitchen has been deep cleaned.  After, he ends up on the couch, paging through the better part of his soul laid out on paper.  It’s too intense, too raw, right from the start so Pete pulls out another piece of paper and a pen.

_Trick_ , he writes,

_This is yours, I guess.  Or it is if you want it.  It doesn’t have to be a big deal but I thought I should tell you anyway.  Promise I won't mention it again if you don't._   His pen hangs over the page as he considers whether he needs to say more, but everything else Patrick needs to know is contained in the pages that follow

_Pete_ he signs it, without a flourish.  There’s no need to make this any more dramatic than he already is.  In a sudden fit of dread, he picks up his phone and finds the next available flight to Italy.  It leaves tomorrow afternoon—which will have to be soon enough.  

That done, he takes the folder out to the kitchen counter so he can grab it on his way out the door, and runs upstairs to pack a small travel bag.  He’ll throw it in his car too, just in case.

This time when Pete finally rips out of his skin, he hits the ground running.  He doesn’t really care where he goes so long as it’s away, and the woods out here are dark and empty, aside from his pack mates.  Joe is there matching him step for step and part of Pete knows he’s keeping an eye in case Pete tries to run back into the city again.  There’s no danger of that this time, he can feel it in his bones.  But given how frazzled he is, the company certainly doesn’t hurt.  

By the time they return to their cars, Joe is exhausted.  “You’re making me feel old,” he says, as he gulps down the rest of his water bottle, while Pete pulls on his pants.  “I’m not old.  _You’re_ old.”

“Says the guy who’s tired from a little running,” Pete teases.

“How are you not?” Joe says.  Pete just shrugs, not sure he has the right words for the nervous electricity that’s lacing his veins.  “I’m going to sleep for hours,” Joe complains.

“It’s not like you have anything to do tomorrow,” Pete points out.  “You’re welcome.  I just gave you an excuse to take as many naps as you want.”

“Next time I’ll be fine without,” Joe says.  “I’m gonna head home before I pass out.  You good?”

Pete shoots Joe a thumbs up and climbs into his car.

By the time Pete’s halfway home, it’s obvious to him that he’s not good.  His emotions are still turned up to eleven, which is always one of the side effects of changing, but it doesn’t mix well with the way he’s still sharp to the touch.  He’s home and in his garage before he knows it, and once he’s through his front door he sheds his clothes as he walks down the hall.  There are a lot of reasons they don’t change in the city—and transgressions are appropriately enforced—but Pete can’t remember what they are at the moment.  Besides, given the amount of running he did earlier he should be fine.  His house is gated, he has a high fence around the back yard, and in the dark no one will be able to tell him from a dog, albeit a large one.  His remaining threads of caution prompt him to lock his doors, windows, and gate, but then he lets the wolf take him again as he runs out his back door.

The next morning when Pete rouses, it’s a rare moment of warmth and contentment.  He’s not sure the last time he felt anything close to this happy but he doesn’t want it to end—so he keeps his eyes closed and lets himself doze off once more.  

When he finally blinks awake a few hours later it’s fully light out and Pete’s brain manages to break through the morning fog enough to notice a few things he hadn’t earlier.  First, that he has no idea where his phone is after last night.  Second, that there’s someone else in his bed.

“Pete?” Patrick asks.  “You awake?”

“Whatthefuck,” Pete says, trying to scramble away from Patrick and almost falling out of his bed in the process.

“Morning,” Patrick says.

“Why are you here,” Pete croaks, regret setting in.  Pack rules exist for a reason, and even with how he was feeling last night he should have known not to break them.  Especially after what he’d done before, trying to go after Patrick—

“I was waiting for you last night,” Patrick says.  “But you were out late, and your guest bed has shit all over it.”

“Oh.”  Pete says.  “I didn’t—you— _Jesus_.”  The good news is, he’s not about to be kicked out of the pack for endangering everyone in the city.  

“Sorry,” Patrick says.  “You really didn’t notice me before you went to sleep?”

“I was kind of out of it,” Pete says.  And of course, Patrick’s the reason why he’s not out of it right now.  Nothing about how far he ran, or how much time he spent in his other form, made the difference.  It was just this.  Patrick.

God help him, he wants to go back to sleep right now, so Patrick can stay without things getting weird.  Well, weirder than they are.  He’s about to try it, willing his brain to quiet down as he settles back under the covers when the rest of yesterday's events come back to him.

“Oh fuck,” he says, sitting up.  He would climb out of bed but he’s naked—which Patrick probably already knows, but that’s just not something Pete can deal with right now.

Patrick just looks over at him, fond and soft like he is in the early morning.  “I was wondering when you were going to tell me,” he says.

“Uh,” Pete says.  “Well, I did and I meant it, that it doesn’t have to change anything and um—I actually booked a flight to Italy later.  So I can go on vacation.  Just.  Leave you alone for a bit.”  He reaches up to scrub the sleep out of eyes because he probably should think about getting some breakfast and getting to the airport—but Patrick catches his wrist.

“I actually came here because I didn’t want you to run away,” Patrick says.  “Italy? Really?”

Pete shrugs.  “You mentioned it,” he mumbles.  “Look, if Joe made you—“

“I haven’t talked to Joe,” Patrick says.  His voice sounds like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal and Pete’s not sure if he’s grateful or if it’s just making this worse.  He can’t even meet Patrick’s eyes because even with all the reactions he’d imagined, this reality is somehow still worse.  Patrick’s never been the guy to break up with someone over text so of course it makes sense that he would come to Pete’s for this conversation.  Worse, he’ll probably stay over to make sure that Pete doesn’t do anything stupid because he knows how lousy Pete is with heartbreak.

“Okay,” Pete says.  “Well good because he kept being weird about what—well, anyway, you don’t have to do anything.  I already figured it out with my therapist and stuff so I’ll be fine.”  He’s sure Patrick can hear the lie in his voice but Pete’s far from his best right now so honestly they’re both pretty lucky that he hasn’t started crying.  

“Pete,” Patrick says, exasperated.  “God, I just—“  The bed shifts under Pete and then Patrick’s hand is on his jaw, tilting his face for a kiss and the world stops.

Pete’s eyes slide shut and he doesn’t think move, breathe; he forgets everything but the way Patrick’s mouth feels against his, and his hand on Pete’s arm, holding him close.  For a few seconds, he forgets why everything about this is a horrible idea.

“Wait,” he says.  “Patrick I.”  Pete’s brain can’t call up any protest right now, but the reasons are all written down and posted on his refrigerator.  Oh god, Patrick probably saw that last night too.  

If he did, he doesn’t mention it.  He just lets Pete think, hand tracing circles on Pete’s wrist in a way that’s half-calming, half-distracting, until Pete’s able to string the words together  “I thought you would get it,” he says.  “From the—everything.  That I wasn’t.  I won’t ask anything of you.”  

“Pete,” Patrick says.  “I'm not here because I think you want me to be.  I'm here because I want to be.  Because I want to date you, and I want you to date me.  I want this to mean something.”

“Right,” Pete says, “We’ll come back to that, because since when, but it’s not just dating.  Not for me.  And there’s no way I can ask you to be stuck with this the rest of your life just because I am—”

“I hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure I signed that agreement the moment we started a band together,” Patrick says.  “I was always gonna be with you for the rest of your life.  One way or another.”  

That’s another piece of information Pete has no idea what to do with.  “Okay,” he says.

“Okay?” Patrick says.  “Are you satisfied?  Or do I need to write a five hundred word treatise on the fact that I know how this werewolf stuff works, and I’m okay with it, and I understood what I was signing up for before I came over last night?” Patrick says.  “Because I’ve thought this through.  I wanted to be ready…when you told me. “  

Pete swallows heavily.  “How long have you known?” he asks, not sure he wants to hear the answer.  

“Since we came back from tour, I think,” Patrick says.  “It took a bit to fit the pieces together.  And I had to do some research, but, yeah.  That’s when I started to figure it out.”  He pauses.  “How much longer than that have you…”

Pete bites his lip and shrugs.   “Just about that time,” he says, too quickly.

“How long?” Patrick asks again.  “And Pete…why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just,” Pete says.  “I knew once I told you you’d do…you’d do something like this.”   

Patrick grabs Pete’s hand and laces their fingers together.  “If I didn't want you around I would have left you a long time ago,” Patrick says.  “And I wouldn't have kept trying to ask you out in hopes that you'd just tell me.  I know we still have to figure stuff out but...if there's one thing we can do, it's that.”

Pete’s not sure what to say to that.  He’s not even sure what Patrick is asking him to accept because Patrick’s much too sensible to make sweeping promises before he’s even been on a first date.

“Hey,” says Patrick.  “Did you really not get it when I asked you over for dinner the other week?  Or after coffee?  I wasn’t even trying to be subtle.”

“You freaked me out,” Pete admits.  “I thought you were just…you never told me that you wanted that.”

“Yeah, well,” Patrick says.  “How long, Pete.  Six months?  A year?”

There’s only so many times Pete can blow this question off and Patrick has more stubbornness than he has excuses, so he relents.  “Closer to two,” he admits.  “But I told you, I was figuring it out…”

“Okay,” Patrick says.  “Jesus.  Two years?  Whatever.  We’ll talk about that later.  Can we just, I don’t know, make out now so you’ll believe me?”

Given that Pete has been trying not to stare at Patrick’s lips for the past two minutes it’s hardly a question.  Patrick answers his nod with a reassuring grin and then Pete doesn’t have to think anymore because Patrick is kissing him again and he can die happy, now that he knows what this is like.  He grabs a handful of Patrick’s shirt to pull him forward, forgetting where he is, and nearly tumbles backward off the bed.  Patrick catches him just in time.

“Oh my god,” says Patrick, giggling.  “Aren’t we supposed to be good at this? I thought that was part of the deal.”

“I’m amazing at this,” Pete says, biting his lip to keep from joining into Patrick's giggles.  He’s pretty sure this is supposed to be the apogee of his sex life, and his maybe-boyfriend-slash-life-partner is laughing at him.

“You almost just broke us, and I haven’t even gotten laid yet,” Patrick points out.  “Maybe we should go get some breakfast, give you some time to adjust to this, and then try again?”

He tries to pull back, but Pete doesn’t let go of his shirt.  “I thought you said you did your research,” he says.  “Three days in bed.  Minimum.”

“I remember reading about rare cases where that happened,” Patrick says.  “I also remember reading that when you mate with humans you’re perfectly capable of adapting to meet their needs as well as yours.  I feel like breakfast isn’t too much to ask.”

“I can’t decide if it’s cute or weird how much you researched this,” Pete says.  “But also, just as a matter of convenience, I’m naked right now.”

“I’d noticed,” Patrick says.  “Okay then, get over here.”

He pulls Pete half on top of him and Pete goes willingly, nuzzling into him before kissing him thoroughly.  For some reason, Patrick’s wearing a shirt still, so Pete slides a hand under it and is gratified with a small moan.  When Patrick pulls back Pete’s afraid he’s pushing it too far—but Patrick yanks his shirt off.  Pete decides to help him with his pants and before long, Patrick is naked in his bed.  

“Fuck you’re gorgeous,” Pete growls, noting the flush in Patrick’s cheeks as he says it.  He leans down to kiss Patrick again, putting every ounce of feeling he has into it.  Patrick gives as good as he gets, nipping Pete’s lower lip and setting Pete’s body aflame.

“Will you fuck me?” Pete asks.  He’s not ashamed to admit he’s had a few fantasies about this, and god but he wants Patrick inside of him.

“Fuck,” Patrick says, arching up into Pete.  “Yes.”

Pete doesn’t want to let go of Patrick, but he reaches out with his other hand, scrabbling for the drawer that his lube is in.  He manages to hook his fingers in the handle and pull it open, rooting around inside fruitlessly.  At last he finds what he’s looking for and pulls it out.  

“Okay,” he says, trying to figure out if he can uncap it with just one hand.  “Fuck, baby, need you so bad.”

“Let me,” Patrick says.  He rolls them, tangling their legs together, and Pete’s tempted to tell Patrick that never mind, they can just do this because it feels so good.  But then Patrick’s gone again, nudging Pete’s legs apart and settling in between them.  

“This okay?” He asks, coating his fingers with lube.

“Come on,” Pete says, “Do me.”

“Patience,” Patrick says.  Pete squirms against him and Patrick pushes him down into the mattress.  “Pete, seriously,” he says.  “I need you to tell me if this is too much.  I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Promise,” says Pete.  He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have fallen for Patrick were it not for his habit of looking out for Pete in everything, but right now he just wants to get laid.   “Come on, oh, fuck.”  

He pushes back against Patrick’s fingers as they slide into him and Patrick shakes his head slightly, but doesn’t stop.  “I can take it,” Pete says.  Still, Patrick takes his time, opening Pete up thoroughly.  At least he takes the time to stroke Pete’s cock with his other hand, just enough to coax a whine out of Pete.

“I want you,” Pete says, as Patrick’s fingers hit a spot inside of his that makes his whole body jerk.  “Fuck, I want more, I need it so bad.”

“Maybe I’ll just keep you like this,” Patrick says, “and watch you.  God, you’re always a show-off, aren’t you?”

Pete’s too short on breath to choke out an answer but he arches his back in response and Patrick swears.

“Okay,” he says, “I’m going to fuck you now.”

“Yes,” Pete says, and then Patrick slides into him and there’s no more space for words.  He reaches out blindly, needing Patrick closer.  

“I’ve got you babe,” Patrick says, thrusting slowly into Pete.  He leans in to kiss Pete, and his cock brushes up against Pete’s prostate on his next thrust.  Pete yells.

Patrick’s kiss is slow, gentle, reassuring.  That’s not what Pete needs right now.  His body is afire, all sensations turned up to eleven, and he doesn’t want it to stop.

“More,” he begs, trying to push back into Patrick.  Pete doesn’t have much leverage like this, and the weight of Patrick on top of him only serves to make him more desperate.  He’s rewarded by another thrust and despite the way Patrick’s hand is making slow, lazy strokes, he’s not going to last much longer.  The next thrust wrenches a cry out of his throat and Patrick bites down on Pete’s lip.  Pete’s restraint is fast slipping away from him.

“Don’t you dare,” Patrick says.  “Not yet.”

“Please,” Pete whines.  He’s not really in control any more, completely undone by Patrick’s hand, but he does his best to hold on.  

“You’re so good,” Patrick says, kissing him again.  

“Need you,” Pete says.  Patrick’s thrusts get quicker, his hand speeding up to match, and Pete loses his breath all over again.  

“Fuck baby,” he says.  “Fuck I’m.  I’m gonna.”

“Not yet,” Patrick says.  He’s just on the edge of reckless.  Pete’s going to feel it tomorrow but still he wants more.  He needs to feel this forever.  Patrick seems to think the same, fucking him hard enough that Pete’s bed slams against the wall in time with his thrusts.

“Oh god,” Patrick moans in his ear, breath coming in short bursts.  “Come for me, Pete, I want to see you—“

That’s all it takes to make Pete come apart underneath him, arching up under Patrick as his orgasm hits.  

“Fuck,” Patrick says, his thrusts just on the edge of painful as Pete comes down.  “Fuck, Pete—“ and the face he makes when he comes is the best thing Pete’s ever seen.

Slowly, they untangle themselves, catching their breath.  Pete doesn’t try to move; there’s no way he’ll be able to stand right now.  Besides, the only thing he wants is to be here, with Patrick.

They curl into each other, trading slow kisses, hands wandering just enough to keep the buzz in Pete’s body alive.  “I love you,” he breathes to Patrick between kisses; he shouldn’t say it, but there’s no holding it in any more.  “God, Trick, I love you so much.”

Patrick, unaware that the Earth isn’t stable under Pete just yet, kisses him again and twines his fingers through his hair while Pete tries to subtly wipe the tears off his cheeks.

Time doesn’t seem to exist anymore, so Pete doesn’t know how long they’ve been in bed when Patrick nudges him.  “Let’s clean up,” he says.  “And get some food.”

“I love you,” says Pete, meaning _Let’s never move because I don’t need anything else_.

“You won’t love me if I get grumpy after skipping breakfast,” Patrick warns.  It’s well known by everyone that Patrick turns into a monster when he has low blood sugar.

“I thought you did your research,” Pete says, cracking an eye open.  “Sorry.  Love you no matter what.”

Patrick’s fingers stop playing with Pete’s hair.  Pete’s heart skips a beat, sure he’s gone too far already.  But the rebuke doesn’t come.  “How about this,” Patrick says.  “You humor me, and we clean up and make breakfast.  Well, brunch.  And then we’ll go take a shower together.”  

“And after that?”

Patrick shrugs.  “Whatever you want?” he suggests.

Pete can’t say no to that, though his legs are still a bit like jelly.  “Deal,” he says.  “Whatever I want.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Patrick says, sitting up.  Pete reaches out and manages to grab his list.

“Patrick,” he says,  “I won't, I would never...we don't have to do anything.”

Patrick leans back down to kiss him, the briefest brush of lips before pulling Pete up too.  “I know,” he says. “I trust you.”

They end up making omelets, Pete chopping the vegetables while Patrick does the eggs, and eat them curled up on the sofa together.  “This better not become a thing,” Patrick grumps, trying to shrug Pete’s weight off his shoulder so he can take a bite.  

“Three days,” Pete reminds him.

Patrick snorts.  “Right,” he says, “like this isn’t just your natural state.”

If it is, Pete’s pretty sure they’ll both find a way to deal with it.  He’s always been a bit clingy when it comes to Patrick.  Now he has an excuse.  “Shower time?” he suggests, when Patrick finally finishes his last bite.  

Patrick gives him a look.  “Not until we clean up the kitchen.”

Pete’s phone pings at him from somewhere on the floor while Patrick stacks their plates and he finds it, eventually, in the pocket of the pants that made it halfway into the laundry room the night before.  “Oh right,” he says.  “Uh, you want to go to Italy with me?  I bet we could still get you a ticket.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” says Patrick, “But when we go to Italy, I actually want to see it.”

The lazy shower they take is better than flying to Italy anyway, and afterward Pete bends Patrick over the counter and rims him until he yells.  

“You’re loud,” he says later, when they’ve gone back to bed because there’s no point in trying to do anything else.  “I like it.”

“You’re good with your mouth,” Patrick returns and Pete’s cheeks flame at his comment.  He can’t find words to describe the lightness in his chest but it’s easy to kiss Patrick, and it seems as good a response as any.  They make out lazily until it turns to something else, and Pete goes down on Patrick again, this time letting him return the favor afterward.  

“So what now?” Patrick asks, drowsy in Pete’s arms.  “Do we leave the house sometime?  Go on dates?”

“I don’t think you understand,” Pete says.  “I could happily do nothing but stay in bed with you for the next week.”

Patrick frowns.  “I never got to make you that dinner,” he says.

“It’s okay,” Pete says, “I can think of a few other things I want to eat.”  He tries to throw Patrick a wink to make sure his meaning comes across; Patrick just ignores it.

“Or I could make you dinner,” he says.  It’s not really a suggestion.  

Going to Patrick’s house means putting pants on while Pete would much rather let his bare legs tangle with Patrick’s, but it’s a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things.  Pete dresses himself with the first clothes he comes to in his closet while Patrick gathers his things from Pete’s floor.  Pete’s halfway down the hall when Patrick calls him back.

“Uh,” he says, eyes steadily on his feet, a flush rising in his cheeks, “do you have a scarf or something I can borrow?”

Pete has approximately five million scarves, and if Patrick has to borrow one anyway Pete’s okay with marking him up a bit more before handing it over.  “Pete,” Patrick says, when Pete’s hands stray too far, “didn’t we agree on dinner?”

Patrick drives them over and lets them into his place and suddenly they have a million more surfaces to break in with sex, so maybe this was worth getting out of bed for.  “Hey,” Pete says, “do you want to move in to your place or mine?”

“Can we maybe decide that later?” Patrick asks.  Like he knows there’s a part of Pete interpreting that as a rejection he adds on, “I think I’ve had more sex today than in the past six months combined so, uh, decision making isn’t really going to be my strong point right now.”  

“You’ve only been awake for eight hours,” he points out.

“Yeah,” Patrick says.  “If you want to sit down and talk about this after dinner we can, but…”

“I can wait,” Pete says.  

Patrick crooks a smile at him.  “I thought so.”  

Pete’s plans to take Patrick right back to bed after dinner are thwarted by the fact that Patrick’s actually a pretty good cook, and by the dessert he’d sprung on Pete.   

“This was your plan for the first date?” Pete asks, as he scrapes his ramekin to get the last bits of mousse out of the corners.  He’s sprawled on the sofa next to Patrick, and the warmth of his proximity is still doing funny things to Pete’s insides.  “You didn’t think it was a little…intense?”

“We’ve done pretty much everything else together,” Patrick says.  “Getting a drink or going to a movie wasn’t going to tip you off.  Anyway, I figured you were going to tell me that we were bonded for life or whatever, so no, dinner and dessert didn’t seem too intense.”

“I’m bonded for life,” Pete corrects.  “You’re—”

“Fine,” Patrick says.  “I’m just in regular human love with you, for the rest my life.  It can’t really be that different.”

"Trust me,” says Pete, “As someone who’s suffered heartbreak of both the human and the werewolf variety, you have it way better.”

“Guess I’ll just have to not break your heart then,” Patrick says.  “And maybe you can try to not do it on your own either, hmm?”

Pete nods.  “Next time I’m thinking about doing something drastic, I’ll ask for Joe’s advice,” he promises.  “Somehow he grew up to be the smart one.”

“Compared to you, Joe was always the smart one,” Patrick teases.

Pete sets his dish aside.  “You take that back,” Pete says.

Patrick smirks at him.  “Make me.”

Pete tackles Patrick into the couch.  

__

—

__

“I love you,” Pete says when he wakes up the next morning, sunlight slanting over Patrick’s bed.

“Nnnn,” Patrick mumbles into Pete’s neck.  “More sleep.”

Pete has a few non-sleep activities in mind that he’s rather interested in trying out but he can give Patrick another hour, he figures.  They have a lot of cuddling to make up for.

Pete drops a kiss on Patrick’s forehead and lets himself drift off into a doze as well.  He’s lost in time, suspended in a world of nothing but warmth and comfort and the steady huff of Patrick’s breath against his neck.  

When Patrick finally stirs, Pete follows suit, yawning as he scrubs his eyes.  “Morning,” Patrick says, voice just a bit rough.  Maybe that’s normal; maybe it’s a result of the fact that not eight hours ago, he was yelling Pete’s name.  Either way, it makes heat flare in Pete’s stomach.

“You’re ridiculously attractive,” Pete says.  

Patrick rolls his eyes and reaches for his glasses.  “Do you need these?” he says.  “Because it kinda sounds like you might.”

“Hey,” Pete says.  “Don’t be mean to my boyfriend.  He’s pretty amazing.”

“He’s also pretty sore,” Patrick says.  “Just in case you were getting any ideas.”

“I already have plenty of ideas,” Pete says.  “And I can work with that.  What’ll it be?  Staying in bed to cuddle?  Shower?  Breakfast?  Massage?”

“Not breakfast,” Patrick says quickly.  “I kinda like my kitchen intact.”  He kisses the pout off Pete’s face and Pete takes a minute to revel in how goddamn lucky he’s gotten.  The easy comfort of being around Patrick has already settled into his bones.  He still can’t believe it, and there will always be a part of his brain that believes the tables are about to turn, but that’s not going to stop him from being greedy about him in the meantime.

“I can hear you thinking,” Patrick says.  “Stop it.  I'm not going to leave you.”

“You don’t have to make any promises,” Pete says quietly.  “We can do this at your pace.”

“Again,” Patrick says, “I’ve been trying to date you for months.  You didn’t exactly beat me to this relationship thing.”

“I told you it’s not the same—” Pete says, but Patrick cuts him off.

“At first I thought you were avoiding me because you’d found someone,” Patrick says, “and you knew…that I wouldn’t handle it well.  I didn’t even realize how much I was dreading you finding your mate until I thought it happened, and I realized that what I felt…wasn’t going to go away.  So no, it’s not the same for me and it won’t ever be.  But I’m so glad it is me.  That I get this chance.”

A warmth wells up in Pete’s chest.  “I love you,” he says again.  He doesn’t have the words to articulate anything more than that.  

“Yeah,” Patrick says.  “And don’t go getting a big head about it, because I still think you’re occasionally an asshole and you work too much and your taste in reality television is sometimes frighteningly bad.  But yeah.  I love you too.”

Pete laughs then, half nervous energy and half because he’s transcendently happy at this moment and he can’t keep it in.  “You’re a real romantic,” he says.  “Our wedding will be a hit if you play it like that.”

“We already have plenty of hits,” Patrick says.  “Let’s save this one for just us.”

Images come to Pete’s mind, unbidden, of a ring around Patrick’s finger while he picks out notes on his guitar; of an outdoor wedding with their friends and family and maybe some of the pack; of them adopting kids—two at least, Pete thinks, and they’ll see where they go from there—and he grins at Patrick.

“Just you and me for the rest of our lives?” He asks.  “I think I can live with that.”


End file.
